UNTIL the a'bus stopped and the old gentleman entered, we had been a
contented and genial company, travelling from a suburb into the city in
high, good fellowship, and our absolute monarch was Baby. His mother
was evidently the wife of a well-doing artisan, a wise-looking, capable,
bonnie young woman; and Baby was not a marvel of attire, nor could he
be called beautiful. He was dressed after a careful, tidy, comfortable
fashion, and he was a clear-skinned, healthy child; that is all you
would have noticed had you met the two on the street. In a'bus where
there is nothing to do for forty minutes except stare into one another's
faces, a baby has the great chance of his life, and this baby was
made to seize it. He was not hungry, and there were no pins about his
clothes, and nobody had made him afraid, and he was by nature a human
soul. So he took us in hand one by one, till he had reduced us all to a
state of delighted subjection, to the pretended scandal and secret
pride of his mother. His first conquest was easy, and might have been
discounted, for against such an onset there was no power of resistance
in the elderly woman opposite--one of the lower middles, fearfully
stout, and of course a grandmother. He simply looked at her--if he
smiled, that was thrown in--for, without her knowledge, her arms had
begun to shape for his reception--so often had children lain on that
ample resting-place. “Bless 'is little 'eart; it do me good to see him.”
No one cared to criticize the words, and we remarked to ourselves how
the expression changes the countenance. Not heavy and red, far less
dull, the proper adjective for the face is motherly. The next passenger,
just above Grannie, is a lady, young and pretty, and a mother? Of
course; did you not see her look Baby over, as an expert at her
sharpest, before she grows old and is too easily satisfied? Will she
approve, or is there something wrong which male persons and grandmothers
cannot detect? The mother is conscious of inspection, and adjusts a
ribbon His Majesty had tossed aside--one of his few decorations which
he wore on parade for the good of the public and his own glory--and then
she meekly awaited approval. For a moment we were anxious, but that was
our foolishness, for in half a minute the lady's face relaxed, and she
passed Baby. She leant forward and asked questions, and we overheard
scraps of technical detail: “My first... fourteen months... six teeth...
always well.” Baby was bored, and apologised to the'bus. “Mothers, you
know--this is the way they go on; but what a lot they do for us! so we
must be patient.” Although rank outsiders--excluded from the rites of
the nursery--yet we made no complaint, but were rather pleased at this
conference. One was a lady, the other a working woman; they had not
met before, they were not likely to meet again, but they had forgotten
strangeness and differences in the common bond of motherhood. Opposite
me a priest was sitting and saying his office, but at this point his
eye fell on the mothers, and I thought his lips shaped the words “Sancta
Maria” before he went on with the appointed portion, but that may have
been my fancy. The'bus will soon be dropping into poetry. Let us be
serious and stare before us, as becometh well-bred English people.
Baby has wearied of inaction, and has begun another campaign, and
my heart sinks, for this time he courts defeat; On the other side of
Grannie and within Baby's sphere of influence was a man about whose
profession there could be little doubt, even if he had not a bag on his
knee and were not reading from a parchment document. After a long and
serious consideration of the lawyer's clear-cut, clean-shaven, bloodless
face, Baby leant forward and tapped gently on the deed, and then, when
the keen face looked up in quick inquiry, Baby replied with a smile
of roguish intelligence, as if to say, “Full of big words as long as
myself, but quite useless; it could all have been said in a sentence,
as you and I know quite well; by the way, that parchment would make an
excellent drum; do you mind me? A tune has just come into my head.”
The lawyer, of course, drew away the deed, and frowned at the insolence
of the thing? No, he did not--there is a soul in lawyers, if you know
how to find it. He smiled. Well, it was not a first-rate smile, but
I swear that it was genuine, and the next time he did it better, and
afterwards it spread all over his face and lighted up his eyes. He had
never been exposed in such a genial, irresistible way before, and so he
held the drum, and Baby played a variation on “Rule Britannia” with much
spirit, while grannie appealed for applause.
“If 'e don't play as well as the band in 'yde Park of a Sunday.”
After a well deserved rest of forty seconds, during which we wagged our
heads in wonder, Baby turned his attention to his right-hand neighbour,
and for the balance of the minute examined her with compassion. An old
maid without question, with her disposition written on the thin, tightly
drawn lips, and the hard, grey eyes. None of us would care to trifle
with... Will he dare?... if he has not! That was his chief stroke of
genius, and it deserved success--when, with an expression of unaffected
pity, he put out his soft, dimpled hand and gently stroked her cheek.
“Poor thing, all alone, 'lone, 'lone,” he cooed in her ear, as if to say
with liquid baby speech, “I'm so solly, solly, solly, so velly, velly,
velly solly.” Did I say that her eyes were tender and true enough to
win a man's heart and keep it, and that her lips spoke of patience and
gentleness? If I did not, I repair my neglect. She must have been a
beautiful woman in her youth--no, no, to-day, just when she inclines
her head ever so slightly, and Baby strokes her cheek again, and cooes,
“Pretty, pretty, pretty, and so velly, velly, velly good.” Was not that
a lovely flush on her cheek?--oh, the fool of a man who might have had
that love. She opens a neat little bag, and as this was an imperial
incident we watched without shame. Quite so; she is to be away all
day, and has got a frugal luncheon, and--it's all she can do in return.
Perhaps he cannot eat it. I don't know, nor does she; that's the pity of
it, poor soul, baby-ways are a mystery to her; but would he refuse that
biscuit? Not he; he makes an immense to do over it, and shows it to his
mother and all his loyal subjects; and he was ready to be kissed, but
she did not like to kiss him. Peace be with thy shy, modest soul, the
Christ-child come into thine heart!
Two passengers on Baby's left had endured these escapades with patient
and suffering dignity. When a boy is profoundly conscious that he
is--well, a man--and yet a blind and unfeeling world conspires to treat
him as--well, a child--he must protect himself and assert his position.
Which he does, to the delight of everybody with any sense of humour, by
refusing indignantly to be kissed by his mother--or at least sisters--in
public, by severely checking any natural tendency to enthusiasm about
anything except sport, by allowing it to be understood that he has
exhausted the last remaining pleasure and is fairly burnt out. Dear boy,
and all the time ready to run a mile to see a cavalry regiment drill,
and tormented by a secret hankering after the Zoological Gardens. These
two had been nice little chaps two years ago, and would be manly
fellows two years hence. Meanwhile they were provoking, and required
chastisement or regeneration. Baby was to them a “kid,” to be treated
with contempt, and when in a paroxysm of delight over the folly of a
law paper he had tilted one of the young men's hats, that blase ancient
replaced it in position with a bored and weary air. How Baby had taken
in the situation I cannot guess, but he had his mind on the lads, and
suddenly, while they were sustaining an elaborate unconcern, he flung
himself back and crowed--yes, joyfully crowed--with rosy, jocund
countenance in the whites of the eyes of the two solemnities. One raised
his eyebrows, and the other looked at the roof in despair; but I had
hopes, and who could resist this bubbling, chortling mirth? Next minute
one chuckles joyfully, and the other tickles Baby just at the right spot
below the chin--has a baby at home after all, and loves it--declaring
aloud that he is “a jolly little beggar.” Those boys are all right;
there is a sound heart below the little affectations, and they are going
to be men.
This outburst of His Majesty cheered us all mightily, and a young woman
at the top of the'bus catching his eye, waved her hand to him, with
a happy smile. Brown glove, size six and a quarter, perhaps six, much
worn, and jacket also not of yesterday; but everything is well made,
and in perfect taste. Milk-white teeth, hazel eyes. Grecian nose, what a
winsome girl!--and let me see, she takes off a glove--yes, is wearing
an engagement ring: a lucky fellow, for she must be good with those eyes
and that merry smile. Daughter of a doctor or clergyman who died before
he could provide for his family; a teacher, one guesses, and to-day
off duty, going to meet her fiancé in the city; and then the three--her
mother, that dear woman with hair turning grey--will go upon the river,
and come home in the sweet summer evening, full of content. As soon as
he gets a rise in the office they will marry, and she will also have her
gift, as every woman should. But where am I now?--let that Baby bear the
blame.
We had one vacant place, and that was how the old gentleman intruded on
our peace; but let me make every excuse for him. It is aggravating to
stand on the edge of the pavement and wave your umbrella ostentatiously
to a'bus which passes you and draws up fifteen yards ahead, to make your
dangerous way along a slippery street with hansoms bent upon your life,
to be ordered to “hurry up,” by an impatient conductor and ignominiously
hauled on to a moving 'bus. For an elderly man of military appearance and
short temper it was not soothing, and he might have been excused a word
or two, but he distinctly exceeded.
He insisted in language of great directness and simplicity that the
conductor had seen him all the time; that if he didn't he ought to have
been looking; that he--the Colonel--was not a fox-terrier to run after
a'bus in the mud; that the conductor was an impertinent scoundrel, and
that he would have him dismissed, with other things and words unworthy
even of a retired Anglo-Indian. The sympathy of the'bus did not go out
to him, and when he forced himself in between the lawyer and Grannie,
and, leaning forward with his hands on his cane, glared at us
impartially, relations were strained. A cut on his left cheek and a
bristly white moustache, half hiding, half concealing a cruel mouth, did
not commend the new passenger to a peaceable company. Baby regarded the
old man with sad attention, pained at his unlicensed talk, but full
of charity, and at last he indicates that his fancy is to examine the
silver head of the Colonel's cane. The Colonel, after two moments'
hesitation, removes his hands and gives full liberty. On second
thoughts, he must have got that cut in some stiff fight; wonder whether
he is a V.G. Baby moves the cane back and forwards to a march of his own
devising--the Colonel actively assisting. Now that I see it in a proper
light, his moustache is soft and sets off the face excellently. Had it
not been the cut puckering the corner of the upper lip, that would have
been a very sweet mouth for a man, or even for a woman. Baby is not
lifted above all human weaknesses--preserve us from perfect people--and
he indicates a desire to taste as well as handle the silver head. The
Colonel is quite agreeable--the most good-natured man you could meet in
a day's journey. But Baby's guardian objects, and history warns us of
the dangers which beset a collision between an absolute monarch and his
faithful Commons. We were all concerned, but the crisis is safe in
the Colonel's hands. He thrusts his hand within the tightly-buttoned
frock-coat and produces a gold hunting-watch--crested, did you notice,
and... yes, just what every father has done for his baby since watches
were invented--before that a fist served the purpose--he blew, the lid
flew open. Baby blew, and the lid flew open faster and farther. Grannie
would like to know whether any baby could have done the trick better,
but there was no use asking us. “Reminds me of my boy at that age...
Bailed on frontier last year.” Is much ashamed of this confidence, and
we all look unconscious. What a fine, simple old fellow he is!
“Saved up, has he”--the Colonel is speaking to the mother--“to give Baby
and you a week at Ramsgate?... he's the right sort, your husband... it's
for Baby, not for you, to get him some fol-de-rol, you know... he's done
a lot of good to a crusty old chap.”... The conductor has taken in the
scene with huge delight, and closes it just at the right point. “Your
club, General; just wait till the'bus stops.... Can ye get near the
kerb, Bill? Now, that's right, take care, sir, plenty of time... Oh,
that was nothing, might'ave seen you sooner... thank ye, I do smoke at a
time... Mornin', General; all right, Bill.” The Colonel was standing
on the broad top step of the “Veteran's” smiling and waving his hand;
the'bus waved back, and the conductor touched his cap. “A gentleman
every inch; cads ain't mide that wy,” and Baby danced for sheer
Christian joy, since there is no victory like Love.