The Minor Dramas. William Dean Howells
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sorry to have kept you so long awake with my silly questions.
THE MAN IN THE UPPER BERTH. Don’t apologize, madam. I’m not a Californian myself, but I’m an orphan, and away from home, and I thank you, on behalf of all our fellow-passengers, for the mental refreshment that your conversation has afforded us. I could lie here and listen to it all night; but there are invalids in some of these berths, and perhaps on their account it will be as well to defer everything till the morning, as our friend suggests. Allow me to wish you pleasant dreams, madam.
[THE CALIFORNIAN, while MRS. ROBERTS shrinks back under the curtain of her berth in dismay, and stammers some inaudible excuse, slowly emerges full length from his berth.]
THE CALIFORNIAN. Don’t you mind me, ma’am; I’ve got everything but my boots and coat on. Now, then [standing beside the berth, and looking in upon the man in the upper tier], you, do you know that this is a lady you’re talking to?
THE UPPER BERTH. By your voice and your shaggy personal appearance I shouldn’t have taken you for a lady—no, sir. But the light is very imperfect; you may be a bearded lady.
THE CALIFORNIAN. You never mind about my looks. The question is, Do you want your head rapped up against the side of this car?
THE UPPER BERTH. With all the frankness of your own Pacific slope, no.
MRS. ROBERTS (hastily reappearing). Oh, no, no, don’t hurt him. He’s not to blame. I was wrong to keep on talking. Oh, please don’t hurt him!
THE CALIFORNIAN (to THE UPPER BERTH). You hear? Well, now, don’t you speak another word to that lady tonight. Just go on, ma’am, and free your mind on any little matter you like. I don’t want any sleep. How long has your brother been in California?
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, don’t let’s talk about it now; I don’t want to talk about it. I thought—I thought—Good-night. Oh, dear! I didn’t suppose I was making so much trouble. I didn’t mean to disturb anybody. I—
[MRS. ROBERTS gives way to the excess of her confusion and mortification in a little sob, and then hides her grief behind the curtains of her berth. THE CALIFORNIAN slowly emerges again from his couch, and stands beside it, looking in upon the man in the berth above.]
THE CALIFORNIAN. For half a cent I would rap your head up against that wall. Making the lady cry, and getting me so mad I can’t sleep! Now see here, you just apologize. You beg that lady’s pardon, or I’ll have you out of there before you know yourself. [Cries of “Good!” “That’s right!” and “Make him show himself!” hail MRS. ROBERTS’S champion, and heads, more or less dishevelled, are thrust from every berth. MRS. ROBERTS remains invisible and silent, and the loud and somewhat complicated respiration of her AUNT makes itself heard in the general hush of expectancy. A remark to the effect that “The old lady seems to enjoy her rest” achieves a facile applause. THE CALIFORNIAN again addresses the culprit.] Come, now, what do you say? I’ll give you just one-half a minute.
MRS. ROBERTS (from her shelter). Oh, please, please don’t make him say anything. It was very trying in me to keep him awake, and I know he didn’t mean any offence. Oh, do let him be!
THE CALIFORNIAN. You hear that? You stay quiet the rest of the time; and if that lady choses to keep us all awake the whole night, don’t you say a word, or I’ll settle with you in the morning.
[Loud and continued applause, amidst which THE CALIFORNIAN turns from the man in the berth before him, and restores order by marching along the aisle of the car in his stocking feet. The heads vanish behind the curtains. As the laughter subsides, he returns to his berth, and after a stare up and down the tranquillized car, he is about to retire.]
A VOICE. Oh, don’t just bow. Speak!
[A fresh burst of laughter greets this sally. THE CALIFORNIAN erects himself again with an air of baited wrath, and then suddenly breaks into a helpless laugh.]
THE CALIFORNIAN. Gentlemen, you’re too many for me.
[He gets into his berth, and after cries of “Good for California!” “You’re all right, William Nye!” and “You’re several ahead yet!” the occupants of the different berths gradually relapse into silence, and at last, as the car lunges onward through the darkness, nothing is heard but the rhythmical clank of the machinery, with now and then a burst of audible slumber from MRS. ROBERTS’S aunt MARY.]
II.
At Worcester, where the train has made the usual stop, THE PORTER, with his lantern on his arm, enters the car, preceding a gentleman somewhat anxiously smiling; his nervous speech contrasts painfully with the business-like impassiveness of THE PORTER, who refuses, with an air of incredulity, to enter into the confidences which the gentleman seems reluctant to bestow.
MR. EDWARD ROBERTS. This is the Governor Marcy, isn’t it?
THE PORTER. Yes, sah.
MR. ROBERTS. Came on from Albany, and not from New York?
THE PORTER. Yes, sah, it did.
MR. ROBERTS. Ah! it must be all right. I—
THE PORTER. Was your wife expecting you to come on board here?
MR. ROBERTS. Well, no, not exactly. She was expecting me to meet her at Boston. But I—[struggling to give the situation dignity, but failing, and throwing himself, with self-convicted silliness, upon THE PORTER’S mercy.] The fact is, I thought I would surprise her by joining her here.
THE PORTER (refusing to have any mercy). Oh! How did you expect to find her?
MR. ROBERTS. Well—well—I don’t know. I didn’t consider. [He looks down the aisle in despair at the close-drawn curtains of the berths, and up at the dangling hats and bags and bonnets, and down at the chaos of boots of both sexes on the floor.] I don’t know how I expected to find her.
[MR. ROBERTS’S countenance falls, and he visibly sinks so low in his own esteem and an imaginary public opinion that THE PORTER begins to have a little compassion.]
THE PORTER. Dey’s so many ladies on board I couldn’t find her.
MR. ROBERTS. Oh, no, no, of course not. I didn’t expect that.
THE PORTER. Don’t like to go routing ’em all up, you know. I wouldn’t be allowed to.
MR. ROBERTS. I don’t ask it; that would be preposterous.
THE PORTER. What sort of looking lady was she?
MR. ROBERTS. Well, I don’t know, really. Not very tall, rather slight, blue eyes. I—I don’t know what you’d call her nose. And—stop! Oh yes, she had a child with her, a little boy. Yes!
THE PORTER (thoughtfully looking down the aisle). Dey was three ladies had children. I didn’t notice whether dey was boys or girls, or what dey was. Didn’t have anybody with her?
MR. ROBERTS. No, no. Only the child.
THE PORTER. Well, I don’t know what you are going to do, sah. It won’t be a great while now till morning, you know. Here comes the conductor. Maybe he’ll know what to do.
[MR. ROBERTS makes some futile, inarticulate attempts to prevent The PORTER from laying the case before THE CONDUCTOR, and then stands guiltily smiling, overwhelmed with the hopeless absurdity of his position.]
THE CONDUCTOR (entering the car, and stopping before THE PORTER, and looking at MR. ROBERTS). Gentleman want a berth?
THE PORTER (grinning). Well, no, sah. He’s lookin’ for his wife.
THE CONDUCTOR (with suspicion). Is she aboard this car?
MR. ROBERTS (striving to propitiate THE CONDUCTOR by a dastardly amiability). Oh, yes, yes. There’s no mistake about the car—the Governor Marcy. She telegraphed the name just before you left Albany, so that I could find her at Boston in the morning. Ah!
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