IN THE TOURIST CAR.
For a time after the train pulled out from the station at Los Angeles,
Jessica Trent saw nothing for the mist of tears which blurred her
eyes; save that framed in that mist was the sad, beautiful face of her
mother. How pale it had been! Yet how quiet the dear voice bidding her
“be worthy” of that dead father, whose representative she must be. For
his sake she was to be educated. For his sake, to carry out his high
ideals, she had had to leave her home and “learn life.”
“That was it, more than books, my mother said. ‘Life.’ As if there were
not the best sort of life at dear Sobrante!” she murmured, fancying the
loud “chug-chug” of the train would cover her voice.
To her surprise it had not. For Mr. Hale answered as if she had spoken
aloud to him:
“Suppose you begin to learn it right now and here, my little maid.
There are dozens of people in this car and each one is very much alive.
See that odd old lady in the second section beyond ours. She seems to
be in trouble of some sort and is quite alone. She’s bobbed under her
seat a half-dozen times already, yet comes up empty-handed every time.
You might ask her if you can help.”
For Mr. Hale was wise enough to know that the best and surest way of
curing one’s own discontent is by relieving that of somebody else.
For once Jessica was not inspired by the idea of helping somebody. She
was far more inclined to sit still in her comfortable place and think
about things it were better she should forget--just for a little time.
Sobrante, little Ned and Luis, Buster her beloved mount, the glorious
garden behind the “house”--Oh! to think each mile she journeyed, each
turn of those ceaseless wheels, carried her further and further away!
“Now, dear! I’m really afraid the poor old soul will hurt herself and
she’s rung for the porter times without end, yet he doesn’t come. Will
you, or shall I?”
Indeed, Mr. Hale had already half-risen and only delayed to offer his
services because he knew it better for Jessica to be roused from her
brooding. Fortunately, her good breeding conquered her reluctance and,
a moment later, guiding herself along the aisle of the swaying car, she
reached the old lady’s side and asked:
“Beg pardon, madam, but have you lost something? Can I help you look
for it?”
The traveler rose so suddenly from her stooping posture that her stiff,
old-fashioned bonnet slipped to the back of her neck and imparted a
wild, rakish effect to her peculiar attire. The bonnet was so big
and deep, of that shape known as “poke,” and the face it framed was
so wizened and small that Jessica could think of nothing but some
fairy-tale witch.
“Oh! but Sissy, me dear! Sure ’tis the kind child you are! Arrah musha!
But I’ve lost me fine new gum shoes, what Barney, me son, gave me this
very day whatever. ‘With your rubbers and umberell, mother,’ says he,
‘sure you’ll be makin’ the trip in fine style, and be all forehanded
again’ the bad sort of weather you’ll be meetin’ th’ other side
this big counthry,’ says he. And now I’ve lost them entire, and the
umberell--Here ’tis. Now ain’t that a fine one, Sissy dear?”
“Why, yes. I guess so. I don’t know much about umbrellas we need them
so seldom in California. But the rubbers--I’ll look under the seat. I
can, easier than you. I’m young--smaller, I mean.”
“Not so much smaller, me dear, though younger by some fifty-odd year
I’ve no doubt. Bless your bonny face! Found them ye have. Thank you,
me child, and wait--here’s a reward for your goodness, be sure. Sit by
till you eat it. ’Twould do me old heart good, so being it aches like
a grumblin’ tooth the now. Leavin’ Barney and the nice wife and the
bairns, as I have. Crossin’ this big counthry all by my lone; and after
that the ocean; an’ all that long way just to look upon old Ireland
once more and them in it I hold so dear. Barney’s but one; in Ireland
are three. One is a nun and cannot; one is a priest and will not;
and one is a wife and must not come over to me in this purty land of
Ameriky. Was ever in old Ireland, me dear?”
Almost unconsciously Jessica had obeyed the old lady’s invitation to
share the wide seat with herself and had smilingly accepted the half of
a mint drop which her new acquaintance offered.
“Eat it slow and it’ll last you a long time, me dear. I always carry a
few sweeties in my pocket for the childher; but mayhap ’twould do no
harm were you to have the other bit, seein’s you was so good as to help
an old body.”
So saying, and with a smile that softened the rugged old face, Barney’s
mother carefully deposited the second half of the mint on Jessica’s
knee.
“Thank you. It is very nice,” said the girl, smiling herself at thought
of Ned’s disgust in being offered but one piece of candy, and that with
such an air of generosity.
“You’re a fair lookin’ little maid, me dear, an’ what might your name
be?”
“Jessica Trent.”
“And your home, lassie? Where’s that at?” queried this stranger with
friendly curiosity. “And be you, too, travelin’ by your lone in these
steam cars? Why for and where to? Sure, if so be, and our roads lie
together a bit we might bear one another company. ’Twould do me
old heart good to keep your bonny face alongside till the pain of
this partin’ from Barney eases up a trifle. A good lad, is he, and
forehanded enough, Heaven prosper him! Free with the gold to pay the
toll of my journey--Whisht, alanna! I’ve five hundred dollars sewed in
me petticoat! Mind that, Jessica Trent, and mintion it to none!”
The last information was given in a sibilant whisper, that might have
been heard by other ears than Jessica’s, and was to her so wonderful
that she stared in astonishment. This plainly-dressed old lady carrying
so much money? Who would have dreamed it?
“Me own name is Dalia Mary Moriarty. Me son Barney, he come to
Ameriky when but a tiny bairn, along with Dennis me man. To Californy
Dennis went, to a place called Riverside, an’ a gardener by trade went
into oranges an’ olives. The blessin’ of Heaven was on him an’ he
prospered, even as Barney himself has done. But ’twas not till Dennis
stepped into another world, the world beyant this, me dear, that I
left Connemara an’ follyed here. A nice town, ’tis to be sure, but not
like Ireland. There’s no land that ever I see can match old Ireland
for richness an’ greenness, me dear. Here in Californy ’tis all the
talk of ‘irrigatin’,’ ‘irrigatin’!’ Nought grows without that costly
‘irrigatin’,’ but in me own true land the water is given with the crops
by the same free Hand above. Sure, I’ll be glad to get me home to a
spot where I’ll be let toss out a dipper of water without bein’ bid:
‘Don’t waste it, mother! Remember the garden!’ As if I was ever let to
forget it!” The old lady paused for breath, then added: “But ’tis kind
they was, each and ivery one. Now, all about your own self, me dear, if
so be there’s none waitin’ you to leave me an’ tend them.”
Jessica turned her head and saw that Mr. Hale had settled himself for a
nap, so replied:
“Mr. Hale has gone to sleep so he will not need me for a time. He
is the lawyer gentleman who is taking me across the continent to my
mother’s cousin in New York. I am to live with her till I am educated
enough to go back to Sobrante ranch, my home. My father is dead. My
mother is the most beautiful gentlewoman in--in the world, I guess. I
have the dearest little brother Ned--Edward, his real name is. Besides
him, we have a little adopted one, Luis Maria Manuel Alessandro
Garcia, and his father is dead too.”
“Saints save us! So will the bairn be soon if he has to shoulder that
great name! Sounds like some them old Spaniard folkses that crop up,
now an’ again, round Riverside way! But go on, me dear. ’Tis most
interestin’ to hear tell of your folks, and so be as that you’re
travelin’ to that same city of Ne’ York, where I take ship for home,
we’ll be pleasin’ company for one another, so we will.”
Jessica was not so sure of that. By the jolting of the car the new gum
shoes had again fallen to the floor and disappeared beneath the seat;
and again she was bidden, rather peremptorily to:
“Seek them, child! seek them quick! If we should come to one them
meal-stations, an’ they not in hand, however could I leave the car?”
Overshoes were articles the little Californian had rarely seen and
never owned and, glancing out of window at the sunny landscape, she
exclaimed:
“Why, what can you want of two pairs of shoes on your feet at one time?
Besides, it’s past the rainy season and----”
“Tut, child! Would have me neglect the last gift of me Barney son? Out
of this car I steps not at all without both me umberell an’ me gum
shoes. Meal-stations, or whatever. Mind that! An’ ’tis them same what
give the only bit of exercise possible on these week-long journeys, you
know. ‘Get out at every stoppin’ place, mother, an’ stretch your tired
legs with a tramp up an’ down them station platforms,’ says me boy,
Barney.”
Jessica once more restored the overshoes and for the comfort of both
suggested that they be tied fast to the old lady’s wrist by a string.
Also, she began to feel that a whole week of this companion’s society
would be hard to endure, despite the certain friendliness of Mrs.
Moriarty. Fortunately, just then, a whistle sounded and the train began
to slow up at a station. This roused Mr. Hale to come forward and, with
a courteous bow to the old lady, bid Jessica:
“Come, dear. We stop here long enough to take on water; and I’ll show
you some interesting things about this great overland train.”
Already the novelty of her surroundings had banished, for the time,
the homesickness of Jessica’s heart. Everything was “interesting”
indeed; from the great water tank with its canvas pipe for filling
the engine-boiler, to the crowded baggage cars. As the stop was for
several minutes, nearly everybody left the carriages, to pace swiftly
up and down for the relief of seat-weary muscles, or to enter the small
dining-room to snatch a hasty lunch. The place was already packed with
hungry humanity and passing its window, Mr. Hale complacently remarked:
“Blessing on Aunt Sally and her fine cooking! As soon as the train
moves on again we’ll sample her basket. The food will be good for a
day or so but after that we, too, will have to trust to meal-stations,
except on those stretches of the road where a dining-car is attached.
Now, let’s look at the great engine, and make acquaintance, if we
can, with the skillful engineer who holds our lives in his hands. A
moment’s carelessness on his part means great danger to us, and his
faithfulness is worth far greater reward than it ever attains. Another
bit for your memory book: a single engine is run but a comparatively
short part of our long journey. Coming to California, I learned that
we had changed engines just fourteen times. Those, yonder, are the
tourist-cars; less luxurious than the Pullman we travel in and cheaper.
For the benefit of the many who cannot afford first-class. By the way,
it would be a nice plan to enter the last end of the train and make
our way forward, from car to car, till we reach our own seats in the
‘Arizona’--as our sleeper is called.”
So they did; and Jessica thought she had never seen anything so
wonderful as this traveling disclosed. Especially was she interested
in the “tourist” carriages; for until now she had associated that
word with the wealthy, rather impertinent persons who made southern
California a winter amusement ground and had none too much respect for
the rights of residents whose ranches they visited. One such group,
she well remembered, had driven over Sobrante as if it had been a
public park, or with even greater freedom, since its temporarily absent
mistress returned to find her garden despoiled of its floral treasures.
“Tourist” now began to stand for other things, in this young traveler’s
mind. For weary mothers, cooking scant messes for their fretful
babies upon the great stove in the corner of the car; for bare seats,
sometimes heaped with all sorts of household belongings; for, indeed,
a glimpse of that poverty to which the strict economies of Sobrante
seemed actual luxury.
“Why, how different it is from our place in the ‘Arizona!’ I never,
never, saw so many children! How they do cry! How hot and tired the
mothers look! Oh! can’t I do something for somebody?” cried the girl,
actually distressed by the discomfort about her.
“I wouldn’t interfere, dear. They might not like it. Besides, it’s
not so bad as this all the time. We’re only beginning the long trip.
After a little, things adjust themselves. People become accustomed to
their cramped surroundings and acquainted with one another. By the time
we reach the other side the continent, here and in our own car, we
will seem like one big family--so friendly we shall grow, and so many
mutually interesting things we shall find by the way;” said Mr. Hale.
Then added, rather suddenly: “Why, Jessica, child! What are you doing
now?”
What, indeed! This inspection of the train, begun in simple curiosity,
was having a startling ending. At the extreme rear of the car they were
in sat an old man, fondling a shrieking infant and vainly endeavoring
to quiet it for the frail young mother who looked helplessly on. Too
weak and ill she was to do more than fix her eyes upon the child and
to rest her head against the uncushioned back of the seat, while the
gray-haired man--Could he have been the baby’s grandfather? If so he
showed little skill at nursing, for the more he petted and pitied the
small creature, the more it wriggled and yelled.
Just as there sounded from outside the conductor’s order: “All aboard!”
and the people came hurrying back into the car, Jessica forced her
way among them to where the old man sat and catching the baby from his
arms, cried in a very ecstasy of joy:
“O you blessed old ‘Forty-niner!’ That isn’t the way to hold a baby!
see me!”