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ATE one night, after having been a week out of town, I was returning
home by a short cut across fields, when, on coming upon the street
again, I found my path barred by a huge, hulking fellow, whose
unexpected appearance startled me not a little. This was my introduction
to Antaeus, whose better acquaintance I was to make later under rather
peculiar circumstances. Antaeus was not a highway robber, but a highway
roller, and when he first confronted me he was drawn up beside the
road, enjoying an elephantine slumber after his hard day's labor--being,
despite his formidable aspect, quiescent and inoffensive.
I am not sure that it is usual to confer upon steam-rollers the
dignity of a name, but my friend had one, and I read it on the neat,
black-lettered brass plate affixed to the side of his boiler, near the
smoke-stack. This, I take it, was the nearest practicable approach to
hanging a locket about his neck that could be managed, and I have
always felt grateful to his unknown sponsors for their little act of
consideration.
I cannot think of Antaeus otherwise than as a creature--not simply as a
creation--as a reasoning and responsible being, rather than as a docile,
slavish piece of mechanism; but to the unimaginative he seemed to be
under the domination of a tolerably clean specimen of humanity whom I
shall call the Driver.
It was nearly a fortnight after our first meeting when I next saw
Antaeus, for he was occupied in parts of the town remote from that in
which I lived. I heard him occasionally, however, as he passed through
the neighborhood after dark, _en route_ for another field of labor, or
propelling his weary weight toward the shed under which he was lodged
for his Sunday's rest. On such occasions, when I heard him lumbering by,
I used to fancy he was taking an after-supper promenade and puffing a
meditative cigar as he went along.
At length, after he had come several times for pleasure, or his own
convenience, he made us a professional call and buckled down to work
at repairing a strip of street which had long stood in need! of his
services. Antaeus was with us for several weeks and during his stay
I became, in a measure, “chummy” with the Driver, from whom I learned
various interesting facts about my muscular friend.
Antaeus was a “fifteen-tonner,” and his market price was $4,000; he was
about sixteen feet long by seven wide at his widest part; he consumed
from three to four hundred pounds of coal per diem; his strength was
equal to that of more horses than I can recollect; he came down upon the
dust at the rate of two tons weight per foot in width; and, when put to
his best, he could settle into what was intended to be its final resting
place about two thousand square yards of new road material per day of
ten hours. As regarded wheels he was tricycular, that is, he rested
upon one roller in front and two behind, the former being also used
for steering purposes. He had two small coal-bunkers in the rear, a
reasonably commodious space, with a spring seat, for the Driver, and a
good-sized awning overhead. He worked under a low pressure of I forget
just how many pounds of steam, and when traveling for pleasure could do
rather more miles a day than could a crack trotter per hour when put to
his best paces.
These particulars I learned during the first week that Antaeus was
busied in our neighborhood. It was thus that I took the preliminary
steps toward making his acquaintance and came to be on pleasant speaking
terms with him, as it were. For the subsequent intimacy between Antaeus
and myself, neither he nor I were wholly responsible.
A young lady had appeared at the house across the way. She was pretty,
but I noticed her more particularly on account of the seemingly
boundless capabilities of her wardrobe. She had a fresh gown for every
new day, or at least, in the course of the first fortnight she had
displayed a series of fourteen charming costumes, which I could no
more hope to describe than could a North Greenland Eskimo to write
an intelligent treatise on the flora of the torrid zone. I sat at my
window, not too near, every morning when she came out of doors, and
admired her through a spy-glass. This may appear like a piece of
impertinence--perhaps it was--but I shall urge in my defence the fact
that the street between us was nearly a hundred feet wide, and our
two houses were set so far back that even by using my comparatively
short-sighted little telescope, I could not bring her much nearer
than we might actually have been without its aid in a more crowded
neighborhood.
One afternoon I stood talking with the Driver, while Antaeus was
awaiting the deposit of more material by two tip-carts which were
attached to his service, when she passed on the sidewalk, and I imagined
she glanced at me with a certain degree of interest, as if she recalled
having seen me before--or was it Antaeus who was the more worthy object
of' her attention? Had I dared I should have smiled a little--merely
a vague, sketchy, tentative smile--but, hardly thinking it prudent, I
resisted the temptation and tried, as the photographers put it, to look
natural; with the probable result of looking only cross. After having
been her neighbor for more than two weeks it seemed as if I ought to
have the right to speak, but proper consideration for _les convenances_
forbade. It was vacation season, I was alone in the house, and, there
being no womankind to make the necessary advances, I knew not how long
it might be ere I could be formally introduced.
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While I was meditating upon this state of affairs--peculiarly
unfortunate for me--she walked on and disappeared around a corner. A few
minutes later the fire-alarm bell sounded the number of a box near by,
and presently our beautiful fire-engine, all glittering with gold and
silver plate, the just pride of the town, dashed rather noisily by. At
sight of this brilliant appearance Antaeus gave vent to a species of
snort and started up as if to follow, but naturally his lumbering pace
was no match for the swiftness of the other machine, and from the first
he was left hopelessly in the rear. I went off to see where the fire
was--it proved to be of small account--and forgot Antaeus entirely until
that night, when he recalled himself to my mind by figuring in an odd
and whimsical dream.
The scene I have just described was reproduced in part, the Driver,
however, being eliminated from it. I thought I was standing beside
Antaeus when the young lady appeared, only to disappear. As she went
I sighed regretfully, whereupon something happened which ought to have
surprised me, and would have done so anywhere else than in a dream. As
if in sympathy with me, Antaeus heaved a sigh also--a most ponderous
one--and thus addressed me:
“I can understand your feelings,” he said, in a low, hoarse voice. “You
are longing for what seems the unattainable. Alas! so am I. We might
mingle our tears,” he went on, beginning to exude moisture around the
gauges; “or better still,” he added, as if struck by an idea, “perhaps
we can be of assistance to each other.”
“In what way?” I asked, dubiously.
“I might help you to know _her_ if you would help me to an acquaintance
with the charming Electra.”
Intuitively I divined that Electra must be the steam fire-engine. Big,
brawny Antaeus was in love! The ludicrousness of the notion did not
strike me then as it did afterward. On the contrary, it seemed to be one
of the most natural things imaginable.
“Yes,” he said, in response to my thoughts, “I am passionately enamored
of her. I desire unutterably to gain her friendship, her esteem, her
love--even though she may scorn me. I realize that her station in life
is far above mine. I am only a plodder, while she is--Did you see her
pass me like a flash of light this afternoon? Was she not entrancing,
enthralling, irresistible! Ah, me! when she bestows her love it will
be upon one of those fast, dashing railway fellows, I dare say. Yet
I should like her to know that I am her friend, that I would risk any
danger, that I would go through the torments of--of the repair
shop, that I would give my last puff to serve her. I may be ugly
and slow-going, and awkward and ungainly--Do you think I am so very
ungainly, that is, for one in my walk of life?” he broke off, in rather
piteous query.
“Not at all,” I hastened to assure him; “when we consider your great
adaptability to your--your vocation, I am sure your form would be
considered remarkably symmetrical.”
“Thank you!” he exclaimed, gratefully, “and whether or not such be the
case, at least I am honest and straightforward and true-hearted, though
I do blow my own whistle in saying it.”
“You certainly are.”
“Then I trust I am not too aspiring in wishing to be numbered among
Electra's friends. I hope she would not be ashamed to acknowledge me if
she met me in the street.”
“I should hope not, indeed,” I murmured, when he paused for an
encouraging word.
“Shall we call it a bargain, then, that I aid you to an introduction to
the young lady, your neighbor, and in return you so contrive as to bring
about a meeting between Electra and me?”
“A bargain it is, with all my heart,” I assented, grasping and shaking
the handle of his throttle-lever, “and the sooner the better for the
carrying out of it.”
“Very good; call on me to-morrow, and I will see what can be done for
you.”
“Shall--shall I come in business hours?” I asked, hesitatingly, thinking
he might possibly prefer to attend to the matter between twelve and one.
“Of course,” he answered, “in business hours, certainly. I mean
business, and I hope you do.”
I hastened to set his mind at rest on that point, and, after promising
to come on the following afternoon, I shook his handle again, which had
the effect of starting him off, and so our interview ended.
When I awoke in the morning, my dream seemed so vividly real that I
resolved to risk making myself ridiculous in my own eyes and to keep
my appointment with Antaeus. Accordingly, after lunch, I strolled out
toward the section of highway where he was at work. Soon I caught sight
of a light-complexioned wagon standing on the opposite side of the
street. Attached to it were two plump, blonde ponies, garbed in
russet harness, and, on the front seat, reins in hand, talking with an
acquaintance upon the sidewalk, sat my young lady.
The natty vehicle had one other occupant, a sooty-faced pug, sitting up
very straight on the cushion beside his mistress, with quite the air of
a personage of distinction. In front of the ponies' noses was a horse of
another breed, a four-legged structure of wood, upholding a sign-board,
upon which was painted in glaring letters the word, “Danger,” and in
smaller ones, “No Passing; Steam Roller Running.”
Upon this scene presently entered an important actor--I might call him
the heavy villian--Antaeus, grumbling, groaning, puffing and perspiring
in his efforts to consolidate the various ingredients for a durable
roadbed that had been laid down in his path. As he drew nearer he gave
utterance to a significant “ahem!”--as I thought--by way of calling my
attention to what was about to happen. Apparently he was going to keep
his part of our agreement. A suspicion of what might be his idea began
to dawn upon me. He purposed frightening the ponies, an incipient
runaway would ensue, and I should be enabled to play the part of heroic
rescuer. There were no very original features in the scheme, but it
struck me as being quite practicable nevertheless; consequently I was
somewhat surprised and grieved when nothing of the nature of what I had
anticipated took place.
But Antaeus was more subtle than I. He wished to avoid the appearance
of collusion between us, which might have been given by the execution
of the rudimentary strategem I have outlined. (Or perhaps the real
explanation of it is that he knew the fat little beasts of ponies were
of too phlegmatic a temperament to be disturbed by a bugaboo.) At any
rate they only blinked sleepily at Antaeus and then went off into a
peaceful doze, entirely unmoved by his nearness. With the black-vis-aged
pug, however, it was quite otherwise. He regarded the monster as
an interloper, a trespasser, and he began to bark at him angrily.
Perceiving that his scoldings had no effect, he lost his temper
entirely, and, jumping down from the carriage seat, ran forward toward
the advancing engine and continued his barking with redoubled force
and fury. His mistress' attention was now aroused, and, seeing how
persistently he put himself in the track of the roller, she became
uneasy. She called to him persuasively, authoritatively, beseechingly,
but he paid her no heed. Apparently he had more faith in himself than
had King Canute when he gave his memorable lesson to his courtiers by
the seashore.
From his position in the rear the Driver could not see the dog, and I
doubt if he clearly understood the situation, for he made no attempt to
avert the threatened catastrophe. The ridiculous animal stood his ground
and kept up his remonstrances against the invader; the alarmed young
lady threw an eloquently imploring look at me; and Antaeus came on,
stolid, grim and impassive. Meanwhile, strangely enough--as it seems
to me now--I remained inactive until my coadjutor, justly irritated,
suddenly growled out what I took to mean:
“Come! come; stupid, now is your time; why don't you bestir yourself?”
Then I awakened to a full sense of my responsibilities and
opportunities, and rushing to the fore, seized the rash and obstinate
pug by the scruff of the neck and restored him, rescued from the
Juggernaut, to the arms of his grateful mistress.
Thus did Antaeus fulfill his share of our agreement.
This little incident broke the ice. In less than a week the young lady
and I knew each other almost intimately. It transpired that we were in
fact old acquaintances. That is to say, she remembered me when I was at
home during one college vacation, and she hoped I had not forgotten the
small miss who used to come over and play tea-party with my sister. I
replied that I should hope not, indeed, and mentally took myself to task
for not being surer about it. The boy of seventeen is less likely to be
impressed with the girl of eight than is the young man of twenty-eight
with the maiden of nineteen. I was positive that at the end of another
eleven years I should have had no trouble in recalling her to mind.
I am not a tennis enthusiast, but I will admit that my white flannel
suit had a chance to contrast itself with the velvety green of the lawn
across the way rather frequently after that. It was a convenient and
plausible excuse for being with her a good deal.
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The pleasure of her society was worth some physical discomfort, and
I couldn't complain if I did feel for a week or more as if I had been
given a sound drubbing. One day, after we had finished a series
of games--in which mine was second-best record--who should appear,
laboriously rumbling by, but my well-nigh forgotten friend Antaeus.
“What an uncouth piece of mechanism that is!” she exclaimed, turning
to look at him--“a sort of caricature of a locomotive, one might say. A
veritable snail for traveling, too, isn't it?”
“Yes; his--I mean it's--best speed does not exceed five miles an hour, I
am told. A man might walk as fast as that with a little exertion.”
“I wonder if it is a pleasant mode of riding--in a steam-roller?” she
said, half musing, her gaze still resting on Antaeus. “At least one
would have plenty of leisure for viewing the scenery along the way. I
should rather like to try a short ride on it.”
“Should you, really,” I asked, doubting whether or not she was in
earnest.
“Yes, indeed, I should.” If she had been half in jest before she was
serious now. “It would be a new experience.”
“Hardly an agreeable one for a lady, though,” I commented.
“Oh, that would be a secondary consideration,” she returned with a
shrug. “I should value the experience as an experience, and I should be
glad to have it to put on my list.”