On the following Friday afternoon young Paul Ford was again on the
Moorthorne car, and subject to the official ministrations of Thomas
Chadwick. Paul Ford was a man who never bore malice when the bearing of
malice might interfere with the gratification of his sense of humour.
Many men--perhaps most men--after being so grossly insulted by a
tram-conductor as Paul Ford had been insulted by Chadwick, would at the
next meeting have either knocked the insulter down or coldly ignored
him. But Paul Ford did neither. (In any case, Thomas Chadwick would have
wanted a deal of knocking down.) For some reason, everything that Thomas
Chadwick said gave immense amusement to Paul Ford. So the young man
commenced the conversation in the usual way:
"How do, Tommy?"
The car on this occasion was coming down from Moorthorne into Bursley,
with its usual bump and rattle of windows. As Thomas Chadwick made no
reply, Paul Ford continued:
"How much did she give you--the perfect lady, I mean?"
Paul Ford was sitting near the open door. Thomas Chadwick gazed
absently at the Town Park, with its terra-cotta fountains and terraces,
and beyond the Park, at the smoke rising from the distant furnaces of
Red Cow. He might have been lost in deep meditation upon the meanings of
life; he might have been prevented from hearing Paul Ford's question by
the tremendous noise of the car. He made no sign. Then all of a sudden
he turned almost fiercely on Paul Ford and glared at him.
"Ye want to know how much she gave me, do ye?" he demanded hotly.
"Yes," said Paul Ford.
"How much she gave me for taking her that there purse?" Tommy Chadwick
temporized.
He was obliged to temporize, because he could not quite resolve to seize
the situation and deal with it once for all in a manner favourable to
his dignity and to the ideals which he cherished.
"Yes," said Paul Ford.
"Well, I'll tell ye," said Thomas Chadwick--"though I don't know as it's
any business of yours. But, as you're so curious!... She didn't give me
anything. She asked me to have a little refreshment, like the lady she
is. But she knew better than to offer Thomas Chadwick any pecooniary
reward for giving her back something as she'd happened to drop. She's a
lady, she is!"
"Oh!" said Paul Ford. "It don't cost much, being a lady!"
"But I'll tell ye what she _did_ do," Thomas Chadwick went on, anxious,
now that he had begun so well, to bring the matter to an artistic
conclusion--"I'll tell ye what she did do. She give me a sovereign
apiece for my grandsons--my eldest daughter's twins." Then, after an
effective pause: "Ye can put that in your pipe and smoke it!... A
sovereign apiece!"
"And have you handed it over?" Paul Ford inquired mildly, after a
period of soft whistling.
"I've started two post-office savings bank accounts for 'em," said
Thomas Chadwick, with ferocity.
The talk stopped, and nothing whatever occurred until the car halted at
the railway station to take up passengers. The heart of Thomas Chadwick
gave a curious little jump when he saw Mrs Clayton Vernon coming out of
the station and towards his car. (Her horses must have been still lame
or her coachman still laid aside.) She boarded the car, smiling with a
quite particular effulgence upon Thomas Chadwick, and he greeted her
with what he imagined to be the true antique chivalry. And she sat down
in the corner opposite to Paul Ford, beaming.
When Thomas Chadwick came, with great respect, to demand her fare, she
said:
"By the way, Chadwick, it's such a short distance from the station to
the town, I think I should have walked and saved a penny. But I wanted
to speak to you. I wasn't aware, last Tuesday, that your other daughter
got married last year and now has a dear little baby. I gave you
threepenny bits each for those dear little twins. Here's another one for
the other baby, I think I ought to treat all your grandchildren
alike--otherwise your daughters might be jealous of each other"--she
smiled archly, to indicate that this passage was humorous--"and there's
no knowing what might happen!"
Mrs Clayton Vernon always enunciated her remarks in a loud and clear
voice, so that Paul Ford could not have failed to hear every word. A
faint but beatific smile concealed itself roguishly about Paul Ford's
mouth, and he looked with a rapt expression on an advertisement above
Mrs Clayton Vernon's head, which assured him that, with a certain soap,
washing-day became a pleasure.
Thomas Chadwick might have flung the threepenny bit into the road. He
might have gone off into language unseemly in a tram-conductor and a
grandfather. He might have snatched Mrs Clayton Vernon's bonnet off and
stamped on it. He might have killed Paul Ford (for it was certainly Paul
Ford with whom he was the most angry). But he did none of these things.
He said, in his best unctuous voice:
"Thank you, m'm, I'm sure!"
And, at the journey's end, when the passengers descended, he stared a
harsh stare, without winking, full in the face of Paul Ford, and he
courteously came to the aid of Mrs Clayton Vernon. He had proclaimed Mrs
Clayton Vernon to be his ideal of a true lady, and he was heroically
loyal to his ideal, a martyr to the cause he had espoused. Such a man
was not fitted to be a tram-conductor, and the Five Towns Electric
Traction Company soon discovered his unfitness--so that he was again
thrown upon the world.