AN EXPERIMENT.
Bertha heard with delight, listened eagerly, and sympathized heartily.
When Max had told his tale, he went round to his handsome span of
horses to take off their collars and headstalls.
"Stop a minute, Max," said Bertha, who held his lantern; "stop a
minute,--if you are not too tired. We shall do nothing else to-night.
Suppose we just try one trip,--just for fun."
"But you are not ready."
"I? I will be ready as soon as you are. See!" and she vanished into the
harness-room. Max hardly believed her; but he did unfasten his horses,
a little clumsily, led them round to the other end of the car, and
hooked on the heavy cross-bar; ran open the sliding-door of the shop,
and looked out upon the stars; went to the back platform and loosened
the brake there; and then, as he stepped down, he met a spruce,
wide-awake young fellow, who said, "Hurry up, driver! Time's up; can't
wait all night here."
"Bertha, my child," cried Max, "your own mother would not know you!"
"As to that, we'll see," said the young man. "All aboard!" and she
struck the bell above her head with the most knowing air.
The trouble was, as Max said afterward, to run the wheels into the
street-rails when no one was passing. But he had, with a good deal of
care, wedged in some bits of iron, which made an inclined plane on the
outside of the outer rail, and as the car was always light when he
started, the horses and he together soon caught the knack. A minute,
and they were free of the road, bowling along at the regulation pace of
seven miles an hour. For their trip down and back they were quite free
from official criticism. The office was at the upper end of Madison
Avenue, a mile or more above them.
And never did young lover by the side of his mistress drive his span of
bays through Central Park with more delight than Max drove Bertha in
that glad minute when she stood on the platform by his side, before
they were hailed by their first passenger.
Bertha will remember that old woman to her dying day,--an old
Irishwoman, who, as Bertha believes, kept a boarding-house. She had
with her an immense basket, redolent of cabbage, and of who shall say
what else. No professional conductor would have let her carry that
hundredweight of freight without an extra fare. But Bertha was so
frightened as she asked for one fare that she had no thought of
claiming two. Bertha made a pretext of helping the woman with the
basket, knowing, as she did so, that it would have anchored her to the
roadway had she been left alone with it. When basket and owner were
well inside the car, Bertha put her head into the doorway, and said, as
gruffly as she knew how, "You must put that basket with the driver if
you expect us to take it." The poor woman was used to being bullied
more severely, and meekly obeyed.
Next three giggling girls with two admirers, glorious in white satin
neckties, all on their way to the Gayety, all talking together with
their highkeyed voices, and each of the three determined not to be the
one neglected in the attentions of the two. Great frolic, laughter,
screaming on the high key, and rushing back and forward, before they
determined whether they would sit all on one side, or three on one seat
and two on the other, and in the latter case, which girl should be the
third. Riot and screaming not much silenced by the entrance of three
old gentlemen, also in white neckties, on their way to the Thursday
Club. Two paper-hangers, late from an extra job, have to place their
pails on the front platform, and stand there with their long boards.
Next comes a frightened shop-girl from the country. It is her first
experiment in going down to the city at night, and long ago she wished
she had not tried it. But Bertha hands her in so pleasantly, and
insists on making a seat for her so bravely that the poor, pale thing
looks all gratitude as she cuddles back in the corner and makes herself
as small as she can.
And at last there are so many that poor Bertha must force herself to go
through the car and take up the fares. Nor is it so hard as it seemed.
Some give unconsciously. Some are surprised, and dig out the money from
deep recesses, as if it were an outrage that they should be expected to
pay. One old gentleman even demands change for five dollars. But Bertha
was all ready for that. She is more ready for the hard exigencies than
she is for the easy ones. And when she comes to the front platform she
taps the two paper-hangers quite bravely, and has quite a gruff voice
as she bids Max to be sure and stop at the South Kensington crossing
before they come to the gutter.
By and by, as they come nearer the city proper, the car and platforms
fill up. Bertha pushes through on her second and third tour of
collection, and at last, at a stop, runs forward to her husband. "Be
sure you stop at Highgate. I shall be inside. But all these theatre
people leave there." This aloud, and then she leaned down to whisper,
"There are three men smoking on the platform, and they make me sick.
What can I do?"
"I should like to thrash them," said Max, in a rage. "But you must
bully them yourself. I'll stand by you, and will call an officer if
there is a row."
Bertha gained new life, worked steadily back through the crowded
passage, opened the door, and spoke:--
"Smoking not permitted, gentlemen. Lady faint inside."
Without a whisper the three men emptied their pipes and pocketed them,
and Bertha had won her first great victory. The second never costs so
much as the first, nor is it ever so remembered.
"Could you know--should you know--can you tell--about when we come to
97 Van Tromp Street, and would you kindly stop there?" This was the
entreating request of the poor, frightened shop-girl.
"Certainly, ma'am; you said 97?" said Bertha, as grimly as before to
the boarding-house keeper, but determined that that girl should go
right, even if the car stopped an hour.
And when they came to 97, Bertha handed her down, and led her to the
door, and pealed at the bell as if she had been a princess. "Oh, I
thank you so!" said the poor, shrinking girl. "And please tell me when
your car goes back. I will be all ready."
This, as Bertha says to this hour, was the greatest compliment of her
life.
They came home light, for it was in that dead hour before the theatres
and concerts are pouring out their thousands. Bertha did not forget 97
Van Tromp Street, and her poor little ewe-lamb was waiting at the door
as the great car stopped itself, uncalled. As they approached Sprigg
Court there was but one passenger left,--a poor tired newspaper man,
going out to Station 11 to see who had cut his throat in that precinct,
or what child had been run over.
"Far as we go," said Bertha, in her gruffest voice.
And the poor fellow, who was asleep, tumbled out, not knowing where he
was, and unable, of course, to express his surprise.