CHAPTER VIII
A MATTER OF PRONUNCIATION
This is a story of the Mystic Three--Fate, Chance, and Destiny; and whathappens to people who trifle with them.
It begins with a young man running after a train. He had to run.
The connection at Westport Junction was normally a close one, but now,even before the incoming train had entirely stopped, the local on theother line began to move out, while the engineers of the twolocomotives, leaning from their cab windows, exchanged sooty grins. Itwas none of their business--this squabble between the two roads whichwas making the term, "Junction," as applied to Westport, a snare and aderision.
So the roads squabbled, and young Seabury ran. Other passengers ran,too, amid the gibes of newsboys and the patronizing applause of stationloafers.
He heard them; he also heard squeaks emitted by females whose highestspeed was a dignified and scuttering waddle. Meanwhile he was running,and running hard through the falling snow; the ice under foot did notaid him; his overcoat and suit-case handicapped him; the passengers onthe moving train smiled at him behind frosty windows.
One very thin man smoking a cigar rubbed his thumb on the pane in orderto see better; he was laughing, and Seabury wished him evil.
There were only two cars, and the last one was already rolling by him.And at one of the windows of this car he saw a pretty girl in chinchillafurs watching him curiously. Then she also smiled.
It may have been the frank amusement of a pretty woman, and it may havebeen the sorrowful apathy of a red-nosed brakeman tying the loose end ofthe signal rope on the rear platform; doubtless one or the other spurredhim to a desperate flying leap which landed him and his suit-case on therear platform of the last car. And there he stuck, too mad to speak,until a whirlwind of snow and cinders drove him to shelter inside.
The choice of cars was limited to a combination baggage and smoker and amore fragrant passenger coach. He selected a place in the latter acrossthe aisle from the attractive girl in chinchilla furs who had smiled athis misfortunes--not very maliciously. Now, as he seated himself, sheglanced up at him without the slightest visible interest, and returnedto her study of the winter landscape.
The car was hot; he was hot. Burning thoughts concerning the insolenceof railroads made him hotter; the knowledge that he had furnishedamusement for the passengers of two trains did not cool him.
Meanwhile everybody in the car had become tired of staring at him; alittle boy across the aisle giggled his last giggle; several men resumedtheir newspapers; a shopgirl remembered her gum and began chewing itagain.
A large mottled man with a damp moustache, seated opposite him, said:"Vell, Mister, you runned pooty quvick alretty py dot Vestport train!"
"It seems to me," observed Seabury, touching his heated face with hishandkerchief, "that the public ought to do something."
"Yaw; der bublic it runs," said the large man, resuming his eyeglassesand holding his newspaper nearer to the window in the fading light.
Seabury smiled to himself and ventured to glance across the aisle intime to see the dawning smile in the blue eyes of his neighbor die outinstantly as he turned. It was the second smile he had extinguishedsince his appearance aboard the train.
The conductor, a fat, unbuttoned, untidy official, wearing spectaclesand a walrus moustache, came straddling down the aisle. He looked overthe tops of his spectacles at Seabury doubtfully.
"I managed to jump aboard," explained the young man, smiling.
"Tickuts!" returned the conductor without interest.
"I haven't a ticket; I'll pay----"
"Sure," said the conductor; "vere you ged owid?"
"What?"
"Vere do you ged _owid_?"
"Oh, where do I get _out_? I'm going to Beverly----"
"Peverly? Sefenty-vive cends."
"Not to Peverly, to Beverly----"
"Yaw, Peverly----"
"No, no; Beverly! not Peverly----"
"Aind I said Peverly alretty? Sefenty-vive----"
"Look here; there's a Beverly and a Peverly on this line, and I don'twant to go to Peverly and I do want to go to Beverly----"
"You go py Peverly und you don'd go py Beverly alretty! Sure!Sefenty-vive ce----"
The young man cast an exasperated glance across the aisle in time tocatch a glimpse of two deliciously blue eyes suffused with mirth. Andinstantly, as before, the mirth died out. As an extinguisher of smileshe was a success, anyway; and he turned again to the placid conductorwho was in the act of punching a ticket.
"Wait! Hold on! Don't do that until I get this matter straight! Now, doyou understand where I wish to go?"
"You go py Peverly----"
"No, Beverly! Beverly! _Beverly_," he repeated in patiently studiedaccents.
The large mottled man with the damp moustache looked up gravely over hisnewspaper: "Yaw, der gonductor he also says Peverly."
"But Peverly isn't Beverly----"
"Aind I said it blenty enough dimes?" demanded the conductor, becomingirritable.
"But you haven't said it right yet!" insisted Seabury.
The conductor was growing madder and madder. "Peverly! Peverly!!_Peverly!!!_ In Gottes Himmel, don'd you English yet alrettyunderstandt? Sefenty-vive cends! Und"--here he jammed a seat check intothe rattling windows-sill--"Und ven I sez Peverly it iss Peverly, undven I sez Beverly it iss Beverly, und ven I sez sefenty-vive cends soiss it sefenty-vi----"
Seabury thrust three silver quarters at him; it was impossible to pursuethe subject; madness lay in that direction. And when the affrontedconductor, mumbling muffled indignation, had straddled off down theaisle, the young man took a cautious glance at the check in thewindow-sill. But on it was printed only, "Please show this to theconductor," so he got no satisfaction there. He had mislaid histime-table, too, and the large mottled man opposite had none, and beganan endless and patient explanation which naturally resulted in nothing,as his labials were similar to the conductor's; even more so.