Jerry and I were used to it, and no one could beat us at getting through when we were set upon it. I was quick and bold and could always trust my driver; Jerry was quick and patient at the same time, and could trust his horse, which was a great thing too. He very seldom used the whip; I knew by his voice, and his click, click, when he wanted to get on fast, and by the rein where I was to go; so there was no need for whipping; but I must go back to my story.
The streets were very full that day, but we got on pretty well as far as the bottom of Cheapside, where there was a block for three or four minutes. The young man put his head out and said anxiously, “I think I had better get out and walk; I shall never get there if this goes on.”
“I’ll do all that can be done, sir,” said Jerry; “I think we shall be in time. This block-up cannot last much longer, and your luggage is very heavy for you to carry, sir.”
Just then the cart in front of us began to move on, and then we had a good turn. In and out, in and out we went, as fast as horseflesh could do it, and for a wonder had a good clear time on London Bridge, for there was a whole train of cabs and carriages all going our way at a quick trot, perhaps wanting to catch that very train. At any rate, we whirled into the station with many more, just as the great clock pointed to eight minutes to twelve o’clock.
“Thank God! we are in time,” said the young man, “and thank you, too, my friend, and your good horse. You have saved me more than money can ever pay for. Take this extra half-crown.”
“No, sir, no, thank you all the same; so glad we hit the time, sir; but don’t stay now, sir, the bell is ringing. Here, porter! take this gentleman’s luggage—Dover line twelve o’clock train—that’s it,” and without waiting for another word Jerry wheeled me round to make room for other cabs that were dashing up at the last minute, and drew up on one side till the crush was past.
“‘So glad!’ he said, ‘so glad!’ Poor young fellow! I wonder what it was that made him so anxious!”
Jerry often talked to himself quite loud enough for me to hear when we were not moving.
On Jerry’s return to the rank there was a good deal of laughing and chaffing at him for driving hard to the train for an extra fare, as they said, all against his principles, and they wanted to know how much he had pocketed.
“A good deal more than I generally get,” said he, nodding slyly; “what he gave me will keep me in little comforts for several days.”
“Gammon!” said one.
“He’s a humbug,” said another; “preaching to us and then doing the same himself.”
“Look here, mates,” said Jerry; “the gentleman offered me half a crown extra, but I didn’t take it; ‘twas quite pay enough for me to see how glad he was to catch that train; and if Jack and I choose to have a quick run now and then to please ourselves, that’s our business and not yours.”
“Well,” said Larry, “you’ll never be a rich man.”
“Most likely not,” said Jerry; “but I don’t know that I shall be the less happy for that. I have heard the commandments read a great many times and I never noticed that any of them said, ‘Thou shalt be rich’; and there are a good many curious things said in the New Testament about rich men that I think would make me feel rather queer if I was one of them.”
“If you ever do get rich,” said Governor Gray, looking over his shoulder across the top of his cab, “you’ll deserve it, Jerry, and you won’t find a curse come with your wealth. As for you, Larry, you’ll die poor; you spend too much in whipcord.”
“Well,” said Larry, “what is a fellow to do if his horse won’t go without it?”
“You never take the trouble to see if he will go without it; your whip is always going as if you had the St. Vitus’ dance in your arm, and if it does not wear you out it wears your horse out; you know you are always changing your horses; and why? Because you never give them any peace or encouragement.”
“Well, I have not had good luck,” said Larry, “that’s where it is.”
“And you never will,” said the governor. “Good Luck is rather particular who she rides with, and mostly prefers those who have got common sense and a good heart; at least that is my experience.”
Governor Gray turned round again to his newspaper, and the other men went to their cabs.
36 The Sunday Cab
One morning, as Jerry had just put me into the shafts and was fastening the traces, a gentleman walked into the yard. “Your servant, sir,” said Jerry.
“Good-morning, Mr. Barker,” said the gentleman. “I should be glad to make some arrangements with you for taking Mrs. Briggs regularly to church on Sunday mornings. We go to the New Church now, and that is rather further than she can walk.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jerry, “but I have only taken out a six-days’ license,* and therefore I could not take a fare on a Sunday; it would not be legal.”
* A few years since the annual charge for a cab license was very much reduced, and the difference between the six and seven days’ cabs was abolished.
“Oh!” said the other, “I did not know yours was a six-days’ cab; but of course it would be very easy to alter your license. I would see that you did not lose by it; the fact is, Mrs. Briggs very much prefers you to drive her.”
“I should be glad to oblige the lady, sir, but I had a seven-days’ license once, and the work was too hard for me, and too hard for my horses. Year in and year out, not a day’s rest, and never a Sunday with my wife and children; and never able to go to a place of worship, which I had always been used to do before I took to the driving box. So for the last five years I have only taken a six-days’ license, and I find it better all the way round.”
“Well, of course,” replied Mr. Briggs, “it is very proper that every person should have rest, and be able to go to church on Sundays, but I should have thought you would not have minded such a short distance for the horse, and only once a day; you would have all the afternoon and evening for yourself, and we are very good customers, you know.”
“Yes, sir, that is true, and I am grateful for all favors, I am sure; and anything that I could do to oblige you, or the lady, I should be proud and happy to do; but I can’t give up my Sundays, sir, indeed I can’t. I read that God made man, and he made horses and all the other beasts, and as soon as He had made them He made a day of rest, and bade that all should rest one day in seven; and I think, sir, He must have known what was good for them, and I am sure it is good for me; I am stronger and healthier altogether, now that I have a day of rest; the horses are fresh too, and do not wear up nearly so fast. The six-day drivers all tell me the same, and I have laid by more money in the savings bank than ever I did before; and as for the wife and children, sir, why, heart alive! they would not go back to the seven days for all they could see.”
“Oh, very well,” said the gentleman. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Barker, any further. I will inquire somewhere else,” and he walked away.
“Well,” says Jerry to me, “we can’t help it, Jack, old boy; we must have our Sundays.”
“Polly!” he shouted, “Polly! come here.”
She was there in a minute.
“What is it all about, Jerry?”
“Why, my dear, Mr. Briggs wants me to take Mrs. Briggs to church every Sunday morning. I say I have only a six-days’ license. He says, ‘Get a seven-days’ license, and I’ll make it worth your while;’ and you know, Polly, they are very good customers to us. Mrs. Briggs often goes out shopping for hours, or making calls, and then she pays down fair and honorable like a lady; there’s no beating down or making three hours into two hours and a half, as some folks do; and it is easy work for the horses; not like tearing along to catch trains for people that are always a quarter of an hour too late; and if I don’t oblige her in this matter it is very likely we shall lose them altogether. What do you say, little woman?”
“I say, Jer
ry,” says she, speaking very slowly, “I say, if Mrs. Briggs would give you a sovereign every Sunday morning, I would not have you a seven-days’ cabman again. We have known what it was to have no Sundays, and now we know what it is to call them our own. Thank God, you earn enough to keep us, though it is sometimes close work to pay for all the oats and hay, the license, and the rent besides; but Harry will soon be earning something, and I would rather struggle on harder than we do than go back to those horrid times when you hardly had a minute to look at your own children, and we never could go to a place of worship together, or have a happy, quiet day. God forbid that we should ever turn back to those times; that’s what I say, Jerry.”
“And that is just what I told Mr. Briggs, my dear,” said Jerry, “and what I mean to stick to. So don’t go and fret yourself, Polly” (for she had begun to cry); “I would not go back to the old times if I earned twice as much, so that is settled, little woman. Now, cheer up, and I’ll be off to the stand.”
Three weeks had passed away after this conversation, and no order had come from Mrs. Briggs; so there was nothing but taking jobs from the stand. Jerry took it to heart a good deal, for of course the work was harder for horse and man. But Polly would always cheer him up, and say, “Never mind, father, never, mind.
“‘Do your best,
And leave the rest,
‘Twill all come right
Some day or night.’”
It soon became known that Jerry had lost his best customer, and for what reason. Most of the men said he was a fool, but two or three took his part.
“If workingmen don’t stick to their Sunday,” said Truman, “they’ll soon have none left; it is every man’s right and every beast’s right. By God’s law we have a day of rest, and by the law of England we have a day of rest; and I say we ought to hold to the rights these laws give us and keep them for our children.”
“All very well for you religious chaps to talk so,” said Larry; “but I’ll turn a shilling when I can. I don’t believe in religion, for I don’t see that your religious people are any better than the rest.”
“If they are not better,” put in Jerry, “it is because they are not religious. You might as well say that our country’s laws are not good because some people break them. If a man gives way to his temper, and speaks evil of his neighbor, and does not pay his debts, he is not religious, I don’t care how much he goes to church. If some men are shams and humbugs, that does not make religion untrue. Real religion is the best and truest thing in the world, and the only thing that can make a man really happy or make the world we live in any better.”
“If religion was good for anything,” said Jones, “it would prevent your religious people from making us work on Sundays, as you know many of them do, and that’s why I say religion is nothing but a sham; why, if it was not for the church and chapel-goers it would be hardly worth while our coming out on a Sunday. But they have their privileges, as they call them, and I go without. I shall expect them to answer for my soul, if I can’t get a chance of saving it.”
Several of the men applauded this, till Jerry said:
“That may sound well enough, but it won’t do; every man must look after his own soul; you can’t lay it down at another man’s door like a foundling and expect him to take care of it; and don’t you see, if you are always sitting on your box waiting for a fare, they will say, ‘If we don’t take him some one else will, and he does not look for any Sunday.’ Of course, they don’t go to the bottom of it, or they would see if they never came for a cab it would be no use your standing there; but people don’t always like to go to the bottom of things; it may not be convenient to do it; but if you Sunday drivers would all strike for a day of rest the thing would be done.”
“And what would all the good people do if they could not get to their favorite preachers?” said Larry.
“‘Tis not for me to lay down plans for other people,” said Jerry, “but if they can’t walk so far they can go to what is nearer; and if it should rain they can put on their mackintoshes as they do on a week-day. If a thing is right it can be done, and if it is wrong it can be done without; and a good man will find a way. And that is as true for us cabmen as it is for the church-goers.”
37 The Golden Rule
Two or three weeks after this, as we came into the yard rather late in the evening, Polly came running across the road with the lantern (she always brought it to him if it was not very wet).
“It has all come right, Jerry; Mrs. Briggs sent her servant this afternoon to ask you to take her out to-morrow at eleven o’clock. I said, ‘Yes, I thought so, but we supposed she employed some one else now.’”
“‘Well,’ said he, ‘the real fact is, master was put out because Mr. Barker refused to come on Sundays, and he has been trying other cabs, but there’s something wrong with them all; some drive too fast, and some too slow, and the mistress says there is not one of them so nice and clean as yours, and nothing will suit her but Mr. Barker’s cab again.’”
Polly was almost out of breath, and Jerry broke out into a merry laugh.
“‘’Twill all come right some day or night’: you were right, my dear; you generally are. Run in and get the supper, and I’ll have Jack’s harness off and make him snug and happy in no time.”
After this Mrs. Briggs wanted Jerry’s cab quite as often as before, never, however, on a Sunday; but there came a day when we had Sunday work, and this was how it happened. We had all come home on the Saturday night very tired, and very glad to think that the next day would be all rest, but so it was not to be.
On Sunday morning Jerry was cleaning me in the yard, when Polly stepped up to him, looking very full of something.
“What is it?” said Jerry.
“Well, my dear,” she said, “poor Dinah Brown has just had a letter brought to say that her mother is dangerously ill, and that she must go directly if she wishes to see her alive. The place is more than ten miles away from here, out in the country, and she says if she takes the train she should still have four miles to walk; and so weak as she is, and the baby only four weeks old, of course that would be impossible; and she wants to know if you would take her in your cab, and she promises to pay you faithfully, as she can get the money.”
“Tut, tut! we’ll see about that. It was not the money I was thinking about, but of losing our Sunday; the horses are tired, and I am tired, too—that’s where it pinches.”
“It pinches all round, for that matter,” said Polly, “for it’s only half Sunday without you, but you know we should do to other people as we should like they should do to us; and I know very well what I should like if my mother was dying; and Jerry, dear, I am sure it won’t break the Sabbath; for if pulling a poor beast or donkey out of a pit would not spoil it, I am quite sure taking poor Dinah would not do it.”
“Why, Polly, you are as good as the minister, and so, as I’ve had my Sunday-morning sermon early to-day, you may go and tell Dinah that I’ll be ready for her as the clock strikes ten; but stop—just step round to butcher Braydon’s with my compliments, and ask him if he would lend me his light trap; I know he never uses it on the Sunday, and it would make a wonderful difference to the horse.”
Away she went, and soon returned, saying that he could have the trap and welcome.
“All right,” said he; “now put me up a bit of bread and cheese, and I’ll be back in the afternoon as soon as I can.”
“And I’ll have the meat pie ready for an early tea instead of for dinner,” said Polly; and away she went, while he made his preparations to the tune of “Polly’s the woman and no mistake”, of which tune he was very fond.
I was selected for the journey, and at ten o’clock we started, in a light, high-wheeled gig, which ran so easily that after the four-wheeled cab it seemed like nothing.
It was a fine May day, and as soon as we were out of the town, the sweet air, the smell
of the fresh grass, and the soft country roads were as pleasant as they used to be in the old times, and I soon began to feel quite fresh.
Dinah’s family lived in a small farmhouse, up a green lane, close by a meadow with some fine shady trees; there were two cows feeding in it. A young man asked Jerry to bring his trap into the meadow, and he would tie me up in the cowshed; he wished he had a better stable to offer.
“If your cows would not be offended,” said Jerry, “there is nothing my horse would like so well as to have an hour or two in your beautiful meadow; he’s quiet, and it would be a rare treat for him.”
“Do, and welcome,” said the young man; “the best we have is at your service for your kindness to my sister; we shall be having some dinner in an hour, and I hope you’ll come in, though with mother so ill we are all out of sorts in the house.”
The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels Page 65