Part 1

ENGLISH WAYS AND BY-WAYS

BEING THE LETTERS OF JOHN AND RUTH DOBSON WRITTEN FROM ENGLAND TO THEIR FRIEND, LEIGHTON PARKS

"For me, an aim I never fash-- I rhyme for fun." --BURNS.

NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1920

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS -------- Published October, 1920 -------- Copyright, 1920, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY CO.

TO E. S. P. WHO KNOWS JOHN AND RUTH DOBSON AS WELL AS I DO AND CAN BEAR WITNESS TO THE TRUTH OF THIS NARRATIVE "ENGLISH WAYS AND BY-WAYS" IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

PREFACE

What this little book contains the reader must discover for himself. I shall not save him trouble by telling in the Preface anything about it. Nor shall I tell more than the letters themselves show as to the identity of John and Ruth.

It is a book with a Purpose. The purpose being to give the reader the same pleasure that I had in compiling it when debarred for a time from more serious work.

I am, however, not without hope that this humorous record of the impressions of two young and unconventional Americans of the England before the dreadful war may do a little to lessen the tension which the nervous strain of the last few years has unhappily produced, and so help to that mutual understanding and sympathy upon which the welfare of the world depends. _The test of friendship is sympathetic banter_, and is, moreover, a firmer cement than solemn speech.

My thanks are due to the _Atlantic Monthly_ for permitting the use in book form of some passages in this chronicle which appeared as articles in that magazine.

L. P.

Point-au-Pic, Quebec, August, 1920.

CONTENTS

I. The Legacy II. The School of Instruction III. "Fool Proof" IV. "Der Kaiser Wilhelm der Zweite" V. The Car Arrives VI. The Great North Road VII. The England of Fielding VIII. The End of the North Road IX. An English Interior X. Husband and Wife XI. The Fourth Speed XII. "Jael the Wife of Heber the Kenite" XIII. "As It Was in the Beginning" XIV. Rural England XV. Education XVI. A By-Election XVII. Sheep-Dogs XVIII. Brigands and Bootblacks XIX. The Piston-Rod XX. Falstaff XXI. The Black Country XXII. An "Average" Sunday XXIII. Dowager And Cowboy XXIV. "By Pureness, by Kindness, by Love Unfeigned" XXV. The County Families XXVI. The Boat-Race XXVII. The Custom-House XXVIII. The "Rob" Room XXIX. Vested Interests XXX. "The Auld Un'" XXXI. Church and State XXXII. The Chaplain to the Queen XXXIII. The Retired Colonel XXXIV. A Problem in Casuistry XXXV. A Day of Trouble and Distress XXXVI. "One Every Minute" XXXVII. Anglia or Frontenac?

ENGLISH WAYS AND BY-WAYS

I

THE LEGACY

I was so sorry not to find you at the Rectory when I called this afternoon. And, what is worse, I fear we may not see you for a long time, if, as your housekeeper says, you are to be in California for a month. For before you return we shall be gone! "Gone?" you will ask. "Where?" Well, I do not quite know. The fact is I am in such a whirl that I hardly know what I am writing! Perhaps it would be better if I began at the beginning.

You know how overworked John has been for some time. He has not been sleeping well, and at times has been--well, almost cross!--which means he is tired out. The culmination came on Good Friday. I left church before the conclusion of the three-hour service that I might reach home in time to have a cup of tea ready for him when he returned. You remember what a hot day it was. Well, I was standing by the open window in the study waiting to see him come round the corner, and Rex--the beautiful Irish setter which Mr. Dennis gave John--was with me. When John appeared he waved his hand to me and called out "Hello, Rex!" and the poor dog, no doubt thinking he had called him to come, sprang from the window and fell the two flights, striking his head on the steps, and was instantly killed. I rushed down-stairs and found John looking as if he were about to faint. We carried the body into the laundry, and John, gazing upon it, groaned: "I wish it were I." You may imagine how frightened I was, but fortunately I had self-control enough to keep silence and led him away and induced him to drink a cup of strong tea. Then I brought out his pipe, and, though he murmured, "I have given it up for Lent," I said firmly, "You have not given it up for to-day." When he was resting I ran round the corner and asked Mr. Hathaway, the carpenter, to make a box for poor Rex, which he said he would do at once, for every one on the block loved him. Then I telephoned to Mabel Wheelock and asked her if she would be willing to have the dear creature buried on her place at Pelham. She was as sympathetic as if we had lost a member of the family--as indeed we have. But how to get the body there I did not know! I called up the hotel garage and learned that it would cost seven dollars to hire a taxi. It seemed more than we could pay, but I decided we must risk it. How I wished I had not bought that new hat for Easter!

When all was ready I called John and we started for Pelham, where we left the body of a creature of whom it could be said more truly than of many humans, that "he was faithful unto death." When we reached home I induced John to go to bed, and was soon thankful to find that he had fallen asleep.

The next morning I went to the store where I had bought the hat and asked the woman to take it back. She was none too well pleased. But, as she had known me forever, she insisted upon knowing the reason, and when I told her the kind-hearted creature said: "Why, you poor thing, you keep that hat, and I'll take the price of the taxi off the bill. It will be good business, anyhow, for when that hat is seen on you there will be a run on them." You may think less of me, but I was so glad to keep it!

Then I went to see Dr. Webster. He listened to my story and then said: "Your husband is as sound as a dollar. I went all over him when he had that touch of bronchitis in January. But he has exhausted his nervous energy and must have a rest." "But," I said, "we cannot afford to go away." He answered gruffly: "You can't afford to keep on."

We got through Easter somehow, and John did his part better than I supposed would be possible. But when one of those "gushy" females, who are found in every church, said to me: "How wonderful Mr. Dobson was to-day! I don't see how he does it! However, it cannot be a strain on him because he speaks so easily. If he had to _prepare_ his sermons I don't suppose he could do it, with all the parish work he has to do!" That woman is called by some people "The salt of the earth." She may be, but it is salt in lumps, and I don't like it that way!

John slept the clock round on Easter night and it was nearly noon when he came down for a cup of coffee. There were not many letters, fortunately, but I had noticed one with the name of a well-known firm of lawyers on the envelope, and rather wondered what they could have to say.

When John had read it he exclaimed: "Well, I'll be jiggered!"

"What is it?" I asked.

"Why, Aunt Susan is dead."

"Is that the aunt who lived in California?"

"Yes, she went out there nearly twenty years ago, and I do not suppose I have thought of her twice since."

"Well, what has happened?"

"Why, she has left me some money."

"Oh, John!" I cried, thinking of what Dr. Webster had said. "It can't be true."

"I guess it is," he replied. "Weeks & Burke are pretty responsible people, and they write: 'By the will of the late Miss Susan B. Melchor,' etc."

I know this sounds like the "long arm of coincidence," at which you mock, and you will say that such things do not happen outside of romances. Well, wait a moment and you will see that this is connected with a romance and a rather pathetic one too. When I asked John about his aunt Susan, he could not tell me much. He said there was a tradition among his sisters--but he had nothing else to go upon--that when his father became engaged to his mother poor Aunt Susan was greatly shocked, for she had gotten it into her head that he had been attracted by her. For a long time there had been little intercourse between the sisters, but after the death of his father Aunt Susan had paid a visit to his mother, and taken a fancy to the little boy, who was supposed to resemble his father. She had only money enough to enable her to live in genteel poverty until she went to California, and there met a man whom she had known when she was a girl, and, following his advice, had invested her little all in a land speculation which, for a wonder, turned out well and brought her a modest fortune, which she now, or at least a part of it, bequeathed to the son of the man to whom she had given her heart in her girlhood. Certainly if the "long arm of coincidence" is ever to be stretched out, this is a time when it might be expected to show its power!

When we learned the amount of the legacy it was evident that we should not be able to live on the income of it, though it would be a great help in supplementing a modest salary. But when I told John that I thought we should now be justified in taking a month off at Lakewood or somewhere like that, he vulgarly replied: "Lakewood be blowed! We are going to Europe to see some of the things we have dreamed about."

"But that means we shall have to break into the capital."

"Well," said he, "so long as we do not break into another's man's capital, I do not see how the law can interfere!"

I was so glad to feel his buoyant spirits again that I had not the heart to make further objections. But I did add, as a final caution, that we must not forget that we ought to lay up for a rainy day. But he scorned this and said: "That is the way money poisons us. We hoard because we are afraid. At any rate it is far better for us at this time, instead of laying up for a rainy day, to lay down for a sunny day!"

So that is what we are going to do.

II

THE SCHOOL OF INSTRUCTION

You have heard from Ruth of all the wonderful things that have happened to us, and that we are going abroad. But you have not heard that we are planning a motor trip. If you say that you are surprised, knowing that I have no motor, I can only reply, "Not more so than I." I had supposed Ruth would be content to go to Europe as most of our friends have gone. But no; she said a motor trip would be far more interesting. I was rather surprised for another reason: Ruth is so careful of the household expenses that when I suggested that motoring was a rather expensive amusement, she said it depended entirely upon how it was done! We could buy a cheap car and dispense with the services of a chauffeur. In that way it would prove less expensive than travelling by train. "Think," said she, "what we should save on baggage! and besides, instead of stopping at expensive hotels in the large towns, we can put up at any little inn. Moreover, we can take a lunch-basket and stop by the way at any place that takes our fancy and eat our lunch."

I had memories of hearing something of the same sort the first time I went abroad--on a cattle steamer. I was told by a fellow traveller that one could make a walking trip on the Continent for five francs a day! However, when I thought of Ruth's uncomplaining economies these many years, I said it was a fine idea. I did, however, point out that I knew rather less about a motor than I do about a camel, but that objection also was quickly disposed of. "Did not James Hawkins drive his car? And had I not said, when he preached for us last Lent that he had the brain of a flea? If he could learn to drive a car could not the man, who, the bishop said, etc.?"

Well, the result was I entered the School of Instruction conducted by "Professor" Patrick Quinn. I wish now I had gone to the Y.M.C.A., for the instruction would, no doubt, have been as good, and the atmosphere more refined! Last winter I heard a paper read at a clerical meeting by an optimist on "The Decline of Profanity." The writer could never have been in a garage! However, "Prof" Quinn knew his business, and cursed a little of his knowledge into me. There were times when we were both discouraged, as on the day when he pathetically told me that I should learn quicker if I wasn't so "damn awkward." But in spite of this drawback the time at last came when my "Boss" announced that on the following day he would take me out on the road. So the next day the "Professor" drove to Jerome Avenue, and then turned the car over to me.

Do you know how many posts there are on that trolley line? You do not! No one does who has not driven a car in and out among them. Probably you suppose them to be stationary. That is what I thought. But they move like Birnam wood!

Well, when my nerves were all on edge with trying to dodge the posts, I was ordered to pass a car just ahead of me. This I did triumphantly, and cut in ahead. Unfortunately, at that moment its speed must suddenly have increased, for the rear hub of our car nicked a piece out of the front tire of the other car. What the driver of that car said I decline to repeat. It is not well you should know such things! But I am now sure that the clerical essayist already alluded to knows more about Pelagianism than he does of the vernacular of New York. I confess I had a momentary unholy hope that my "Boss" would answer him in a way it would be sinful for me to imitate, but instead he asked me if I had a "pull" with the police. When I replied I had not he sarcastically remarked that he supposed I must have, seeing how hard I was trying to "get run in."

A few minutes later he directed me to run up to the Concourse. You may remember there is a sharp rise from Jerome Avenue, so thinking he wished to find out if I remembered his lecture "On the Art of Driving," in which he had emphasized the importance of "giving her gas" at the foot of a hill, and then "watch her pick up," I gave her gas and watched her pick up. Indeed the speed soon became alarming. At the top of the hill there is a sharp turn into the Concourse leading onto a bridge which spans the road on which a trolley line passes beneath. Onto this bridge, then, we whirled, the hub of the off rear wheel striking the corner of the buttress of the bridge and slewing us half-way round, so that the car was now headed toward the frail railing which marks rather than guards the roadway. I was still "giving her gas"--not knowing longer what I was doing--and have no doubt but that in another second we should have plunged below, had not the man wrenched the wheel from my hands and straightened the car out.

I was fully prepared for profanity but not for the wailing prayer which issued from his frightened lips. I call it a prayer, for such it was in form, though the bitterness of his tone made it more dreadful than any oath. This is what he said: "O my G--d, if ever I live to get home, I'll never do anything riskier than drivin' in a Vanderbilt Cup race." After this we changed places by mutual consent.

It is surprising what a difference the road-bed makes in the running of a car! At least I suppose it was due to that, for on Jerome Avenue the car had run now fast now slow, while here it glided along the road as smoothly as a shell goes through the water when driven by the steady sweep of the oars. Can the driver have anything to do with it? I did not dare to ask the "Boss," for it was evident that he was "mad at me." Another thing surprised me. Again and again he refused perfectly good chances to cut in ahead of another car, instead of which he would drop back and wait until there was plenty of room, and then run alongside of his rival until he could easily take the lead. I found, however, that this timid policy, as I was inclined to call it, was really Fabian, for we passed each car in turn. Moreover, he did not seem to regard the drivers of other cars as his natural enemies, as seemed to me inevitable, but, on the contrary, spoke pleasantly to several and called not a few "brother." But when I asked him if all the family was in the business, he gruffly requested me "not to kid him." Indeed, it was evident that he had ceased swearing at me because he regarded me as hopeless. I therefore decided not to return to the school, even though I failed to receive the diploma which, he had assured me at my entrance, would insure me a first-class job.

III

"FOOL PROOF"

It will be remembered that it had been our intention to buy a cheap car. However, we did not, because Ruth decided that this would not be so economical as we had supposed! First, we looked at the smallest and cheapest car on the market. It was a two-cylinder, not much larger than a perambulator, and as noisy as a donkey-engine. The salesman said that for himself he did not care for one of those perfectly silent cars: "There is too much danger of accidents. You come upon people suddenly, before they have time to jump, and the first thing you know you have a ten-thousand-dollar suit on your hands. But with this car there is no such danger, for people have time to get out of the way before they are hurt." I must say this impressed me, but Ruth, who knows nothing of the dangers of driving, remarked that she did not think people would be much hurt if that car did hit them. "Besides," she added, "no conversation would be possible in such a car."

The man replied that there was not much chance in a car where you were blowing the Klaxon all the time. "And, now," he said, "let me give you a demonstration." To this we agreed, but as there was room for but one besides the driver, he suggested that I should try it first. So I chugged round the block while the demonstrator explained how many miles "she" would do on a gallon, and how little oil it took to lubricate "her." But when it came Ruth's turn, the engine stalled, and no power would move it. So we did not buy that one.

Well, we looked at many cars of many makes, but the cheap ones were uncomfortable, and the comfortable ones were too dear, and I was almost in despair, for the time was passing and I felt that I must have a little time to practise driving before starting on such a journey as we had planned. But a chance word decided me. We were looking at a "Frontenac." It was a most attractive-looking "runabout," and Ruth said it "fitted her back" better than any we had seen, and so, though the price was more than we had intended to pay, I saw she had set her heart upon it, and was asking myself if I could not economize somewhere else and let her have what she wanted, when the salesman, who of course was a mind-reader, remarked: "This is a new model. We built it because there was no car on the market built for a 'gentleman's' use. You see, no one with this car would need a chauffeur, though, as you may have noticed, there is a seat which folds up, so that if one wished to pick up a friend, or take a chauffeur for a special occasion, it could be done." Then he added, as if speaking to himself, while he laid his hand caressingly on the mud-guard: "What I like about this car is that she is practically 'FOOL PROOF.'" He had spoken the inevitable word. That was the kind of car I had been looking for! Then followed an explanation of the "self-starter"--"something found on no other car." I hesitated no longer. I paid the deposit and he said the car was mine. It was not cheap, but, as the testimonials say, "If I could not buy its mate I would not sell it for twice the amount I paid!"

One does not receive a car the day one pays for it. There are still many things to buy in the way of accessories, and as a result the car was not in my hands until the day before I was required to turn it over to the shipper. I therefore had time only to drive around the park three times before I was required to deliver the car at the dock.

I was glad to find that I did better alone than when profanity was being barked into my ear at every turn!

Of course I stalled several times through failure to "give her gas," but the self-starter had taken the sting out of that, and I drove back to the garage feeling that I was now prepared to risk the two most precious lives in the world with a fair margin of safety!

IV

"DER KAISER WILHELM DER ZWEITE"