GEORGE SHAW - The Complete Works

“Go to the other window. First class only here.”

“First class, then,” cried Jack, exasperated. “Quick.” And he pushed in a half sovereign.

The clerk, startled by Jack’s voice, hastily gave him a ticket and an installment of the change. Jack left the rest, and ran to the platform just in time to hear the engine whistle.

“Late, sir. You’re late,” said a man in the act of slamming the barrier. By way of reply, Jack dragged it violently back and rushed after the departing train. There was a shout and a rush of officials to stop him; and one of them seized him, but, failing to hold him, was sent reeling by the collision. The next moment Jack opened the door of a first-class carriage, and plunged in in great disorder. The door was shut after him by an official, who stood on the footboard to cry out, “You will be summonsed for this, sir, so you shall. You shall be sum—”

“Go to the deuce,” retorted Jack, in a thundering voice. As the man jumped off, he turned from the door, and found himself confronted by a tall thin old gentleman, sprucely dressed, who cried in a high voice:

“Sir, this is a private compartment. I have engaged this compartment. You have no business here.”

“You should have had the door locked then,” said Jack, with surly humor, seating himself, and folding his arms with an air of concentrated doggedness.

“I — I consider your intrusion most unwarrantable — most unjustifiable,” continued the the gentleman.

Jack chuckled too obviously, at the old gentleman’s curious high voice and at his discomfiture. Then, deferring a little to white hairs, he said, “Well, well: I can get into another carriage at the next station.”

“You can do nothing of the sort, sir,” cried the gentleman, more angrily than before. “This is an express train. It does not stop.”

“Then I do, — where I am,” aid Jack curtly, with a new and more serious expression of indignation; for he had just remarked that there was one other person in the carriage — a young lady.

“I will not submit to this, sir. I will stop the train.”

“Stop it then,” said Jack, scowling at him. “But let me alone.”

The gentleman, with flushes of color coming and going on his withered cheek, turned to the alarum and began to read the printed instructions as to its use. “You had better not stop the train, father,” said the lady. “You will only get fined. The half-crown you gave the guard does not—”

“Hold your tongue,” said the gentleman. “I desire you not to speak to me, Magdalen, on any pretext whatsoever.” Jack, who had relented a little on learning the innocent relationship between his fellow travellers glanced at the daughter. She was a tall lady with chestnut hair, burnished by the rays which came aslant through the carriage window. Her eyes were bright hazel; her mouth small, but with full lips, the upper one, like her nose, tending to curl upward. She was no more than twenty; but in spite of her youth and trivial style of beauty, her manner was self-reliant and haughty. She did not seem to enjoy her journey, and took no pains to conceal her illhumor, which was greatly increased by the rebuke which her father had addressed to her. Her costume of maize color and pale blue was very elegant, and harmonized admirably with her fine complexion. Jack repeated his glance at short intervals until he discovered that her face was mirrored in the window next which he sat. He then turned away from her, and studied her appearance at his ease.

Meanwhile the gentleman, grumbling in an undertone, had seated himself without touching the alarum, and taken up a newspaper. Occasionally he looked over at his daughter, who, with her cheek resting on her glove, was frowning at the landscape as they passed swiftly through it. Presently he uttered an exclamation of impatience, and blew off some dust and soot which had just settled on his paper. Then he rose, and shut the window.

“Oh, pray don’t close it altogether, father,” said the lady. “It is too warm. I am half suffocated as it is.”

“Magdalen: I forbid you to speak to me.”

Magdalen pouted, and shook her shoulders angrily. Her father then went to the other door of the carriage, and closed the window there also. Jack instantly let it down with a crash, and stared truculently at him.

“Sir,” said the gentleman: “if, you — if sir — had you politely requested me not to close the window, I should not have — I would have respected your objection.”

“And if you, sir,” returned Jack, “had politely asked my leave before meddling with my window, I should, with equal politeness, have conveyed to you my invincible determination to comply with the lady’s reasonable request.”

“Ha! Indeed!” said the gentleman loftily. “I shall not — ah — dispute the matter with you.” And he resumed his seat, whilst his daughter, who had looked curiously at Jack for a moment, turned again to the landscape with her former chagrined expression.

For some time after this they travelled in peace: the old gentleman engaged with his paper: Jack chuckling over his recent retort. The speed of the train now increased speed; and the musician became exhilarated as the telegraph poles shot past, hardly visible.

When the train reached a part of the line at which the rails were elevated on iron chairs, the smooth grinding of the wheels changed to a rhythmic clatter. The racket became deafening; and Jack’s exhilaration had risen to a reckless excitement, when he was recalled to his senses by the gentleman, whom he had forgotten, calling out:

“Sir: will you oblige me by stopping those infernal noises.”

Jack, confused, suddenly ceased to grind his teeth and whistle through them. Then he laughed and said goodhumoredly, “I beg your pardon: I am a composer.”

“Then have the goodness to remember that you are not now in a printing office,” said the gentleman, evidently Supposing him to be a compositor. “You are annoying this lady, and driving me distracted with your hissing.”

“I do not mind it in the least” said the lady stubbornly.

“Magdalen: I have already desired you twice to be silent.”

“I shall speak if I please,” she muttered. Her father pretended not to hear her, and sat still for the next ten minutes, during which he glanced at Jack several times, with an odd twinkle in his eye. Then he said:

“What did you say you were, sir, may I ask?”

“A composer.”

“You are a discomposer, sir,” cried the old gentleman man promptly. “You are a discomposer.” And he began a chirping laughter, which Jack, after a pause of wonder, drowned with a deeptoned roar of merriment. Even the lady, determined as she was to be sulky, could not help smiling. Her father then took up the newspaper, and hid his face with it, turning his back to Jack, who heard him occasionally laughing to himself.

“I wish I had something to read,” said the young lady after some time, turning discontentedly from the window.

“A little reflexion will do you no harm,” said her parent. “A little reflexion, and, I will add, Magdalen, a little repentance perhaps.”

“I have nothing but disappointment and misery to reflect about, and I have no reason to be repentant. Please get me a novel at the next station — or give me some money, and I will get one myself.”

“Certainly not. You are not to be trusted with money. I forbid you ever to open a novel again. It is from such pestilential nonsense that you got the ideas which led to your present disgraceful escapade. Now, I must beg of you not to answer me, Magdalen. I do not wish to enter into a discussion with you, particularly before strangers.”

“Then do not make strangers believe that—”

“Hold your tongue, Magdalen. Do you disobey me intentionally? You should be ashamed to speak to me.”