THE woman stepped on so many toes in making her way to the far end that
the passengers were only willing to give partial forgiveness when, as the
motor-omnibus started, she gave a violent jerk.
“First time I’ve ever been in one of these new-fangled contrivances.”
“It’ll be the last, if you ain’t careful,” said the conductor, punching a
penny ticket.
“But I made up my mind to do it,” addressing the others. “Down in the
country where I live, they’ve been throwing it up agenst me for some time
past. And so I determined, next time I come up to see my sister, I’d
take a trip by one of them, jest in order to see what happened, and—here
I are.”
A youth next to her, with a girl companion, mentioned that it was a pity
they so often exploded, and blew up in the air; the girl jerked with her
elbow and begged him not to make her laugh in public.
“You think there’s any likelihood?” asked the country lady tremulously.
“I don’t want to get mixed up in no fatal accident, and see my name in
the London papers. Shan’t never hear the end of it if that happens. Do
they make any warning before they go off pop?”
The passengers gave up all attempt to read, and offered her their
complete attention. “So painful for friends,” said a woman opposite,
winking at the rest. “Understand what I mean. Having to come and sort
out the bits, and say, ‘That looks like Uncle James’s ear; if I could
only find the other one, I should be able to start piecing him together.’
You see, they don’t allow compensation unless you can produce the
complete individual.”
“That don’t seem exactly fair.”
“It isn’t fair,” agreed the humorous woman. “But there’s lots of things
like that here in London. For instance, if the inspector came in now,
and found you sitting up in the first-class part of the car, he’d want to
charge you excess.”
“In that case,” she said affrightedly, taking a grip of her parcel, “I’d
better move down nearer towards the door.”
They made room for her in the newly selected position; the folk there not
disguising their satisfaction with the change. The string of the parcel
came undone, and they assisted her in recovering the contents. “Giving
everybody a lot of trouble,” she remarked penitently; “and that ain’t my
usual plan, not by no manner of means. Can I temp’ you with a apple,
sir? I don’t know you, and I hope you’ll excuse what looks like a
liberty, but if you’re a judge of a Ribston pippin, you’ll enjoy that
one.”
“I recollect,” said the man, “what ’appened in the Garden of Eden.”
“That were before my time,” she said, putting it back into her pocket.
“But I always like to reward kindness wherever I come across it. And I
must say you London folk are partic’lar nice to strangers. Nothing you
won’t do for them. When I get back home, I shall tell my neighbours how
pleasant you’ve been to me. What’s that building supposed to be, may I
ask?” Pointing through the window at Bayswater Road.
“That,” answered the man, “is a monument put up to Julius Cæsar. The
chap, you know, who was in the Battle of Trafalgar.”
“I remember. At least, I say I remember; but that’s a lie. I recollect
reading about it when I was at school. And isn’t this a nice open part
here, too! Trees, and goodness knows what all!”
“Richmon’ Park,” explained her informant readily. “That’s the proper
name of it.”
“Thought that was situated a long way out.”
“It’s been moved.”
“Ah, well,” she said resignedly, “I find the best plan in London is to
take everything as it comes. What I’ve always been hoping— But there,
it’s no use talking about what isn’t likely to happen.” They pressed for
details. “It would be too much like luck for it to occur to me. But
what I’ve always wished for was that I might catch sight, just for once
in my life, of the new King and Queen—”
Two passengers called her attention eagerly to a couple walking along by
the railings, arm-in-arm; gave a fervid assurance.
“Well, well, well!” fanning herself with an ungloved hand. “To think of
him strolling along with a pipe in his mouth, for all the world like an
ordinary individual! And not over-dressed neither. That’s something
more for me to tell ’em when I get home. Wouldn’t have missed the sight
for anything. But I were always under the impression that he was a
gentleman with a beard.”
“Shaves it off, just about this time, every year.”
“I see,” she remarked contentedly. “More for the sake of change, I
suppose, than anything. Talking of that, I suppose there’s nobody here
could oblige me with silver for a sovereign?”
Out of sheer gratitude to an admirable target, they found the coins she
required, and in giving her thanks she mentioned that the sooner now that
she reached Notting Hill the better she would be pleased. They seemed to
have a desire to conceal the truth, but the conductor happened to
overhear the statement; he rang the bell sharply and informed her she was
going in the wrong direction. She asked him to explain, pointing out
that his conveyance certainly bore the words Notting Hill, and suggesting
that he was possibly making a mistake; the delay to the motor-omnibus
induced her fellow-travellers to declare that the conductor was telling
the truth, and she bade them separately and collectively goodbye,
expressing a hope that she might be so fortunate as to meet them again on
some future visit to town.
“And which way do I go now, young man?”
“You get off the step,” replied the irritated conductor. “You cross the
roadway. You take a ’bus going West.”
“Which do you call West?”
The motor-omnibus restarted. Passengers gazed amusedly at her, craning
necks in the hope of witnessing one more diverting incident; as she
vanished they became quite friendly, wondering whether she would ever
reach her destination, and speaking of the simplicity and foolishness of
country folk.
“What do you make of this sovereign, conductor?”
The conductor, testing it with the aid of his teeth, announced he was
able to make nothing of it; he doubted whether the owner would succeed.
Alarmed, the rest of the passengers searched muffs and pockets; three
purses were missing, and some articles of less value. Frantic inquiries
for the nearest police-station. A man who had lost nothing said he
suspected the country lady all along.
“What we ought to be uncommon thankful for,” said the conductor, stopping
near Edgware Road, “is that she didn’t pinch the blooming ’bus!”