Straw Hat.--What! arrest him.
Sandy Beard.--Why to be sure; what can I mean else?
Straw Hat.--But he has given me no provocation.
Sandy Beard.--Now, I think he has given you the greatest provocation in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous offence against another than to frighten him? Ah! by my soul, it is a most unpardonable breach of something.
Straw Hat.--Breach of something! Ay, ay; but is"t a breach of the peace? I have no acquaintance with this man. I never saw him before in my life.
Sandy Beard.--That"s no argument at all; he has the less right to take such a liberty.
Straw Hat.--Gad, that"s true. I grow full of anger, Sir Sandy!
fire ahead! Odds, writs and warrants! I find a man may have a good deal of valor in him, and not know it! But couldn"t I contrive to have a little right on my side?
Sandy Beard.--What the devil signifies right when your courage is concerned. Do you think Verges, or my little Dogberry ever inquired where the right lay? No, by my soul; they drew their writs, and left the lazy justice of the peace to settle the right of it.
Straw Hat.--Your words are a grenadier"s march to my heart! I believe courage must be catching! I certainly do feel a kind of valor rising as it were,--a kind of courage, as I may say. Odds, writs and warrants! I"ll complain directly.
(With apologies to Sheridan.)
And the pair went off to make their complaint.
Suppose each had been given then and there the sixty cents he afterwards received and duly receipted for, would it have saved time and trouble? Who knows? but the diversion of the afternoon would have been lost.
In a few moments an officer quite courteously--refreshing contrast--notified me that complaint was in process of making.
I found the chief of police with a copy of the city ordinance trying to draw some sort of a complaint that would fit the extraordinary case, for the charge was not the usual one, that the machine was going at an unlawful speed, but that a lawyer had been frightened; to find the punishment that would fit that crime was no easy task.
The ordinance is liberal,--ten miles an hour; and the young man and his mentor had not said the speed of the automobile was greater than the law allowed, hence the dilemma of the chief; but we discussed a clause which provided that vehicles should not be driven through the streets in a manner so as to endanger public travel, and he thought the complaint would rest on that provision.
However lacking the bar of Pittsfield may be in the amenities of life, the bench is courtesy itself. There was no court until next day; but calling at the judge"s very delightful home, which happens to be on one of the interesting old streets of the town, he said he would come down and hear the matter at two o"clock, so I could get away that afternoon.
The first and wisest impulse of the automobilist is to pay whatever fine is imposed and go on, but frightening a lawyer is not an every-day occurrence. I once frightened a pair of army mules; but a lawyer,--the experience was too novel to let pa.s.s lightly. The game promised to be worth the candle.
The scene shifts to a dingy little room in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the court-house; present, Straw Hat and Sandy Beard, with populace.
To corroborate--wise precaution on the part of a lawyer in his own court--their story, they bring along a volunteer witness in over-alls,--the three making a trio hard to beat.
Straw Hat takes the stand and testifies he is an unusually timid man, and was most frightened to death.
Sandy Beard"s testimony is both graphic and corroborative.
The witness in over-alls, with some embellishments of his own, supports Sandy Beard.
The row of bricks is complete.
The court removes a prop by remarking that the ordinance speed has not been exceeded.
The bricks totter.
Whereupon, Sandy Beard now takes the matter into his own hands, and, ignoring the professional acquirements of his princ.i.p.al, addresses the court and urges the imposition of a fine,--a fine being the only satisfaction, and source of immediate revenue, conceivable to Sandy Beard.
Meanwhile Straw Hat is silent; the witness in over-alls is perturbed.
The court considers the matter, and says "the embarra.s.sing feature of the case is that it has yet to be shown that the defendant was going at a rate exceeding ten miles an hour, and upon this point the witnesses did not agree. There was evidence tending to prove the machine was going ten miles an hour, but that would not lead to conviction under the first clause of the ordinance; but there is another clause which says that a machine must not be run in such a manner as to endanger or inconvenience public travel. What is detrimental to public travel? Does it mean to run it so as not to frighten a man of nerve like the chief of police, or some timid person? It is urged that not one man in a thousand would have been frightened like Mr.-- ; but a man is bound to run his machine in the streets so as to frighten no one, therefore the defendant is fined five dollars and costs."
The fine is duly paid, and Messrs. Straw Hat, Sandy Beard, and Over-alls, come forward, receive and receipt for sixty cents each.
Their wrath was appeased, their wounded feelings soothed, their valor satisfied,--one dollar and eighty cents for the bunch.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN THROUGH Ma.s.sACHUSETTS IN LENOX
There are several roads out of Pittsfield to Springfield, and if one asks a half-dozen citizens, who pretend to know, which is the best, a half-dozen violently conflicting opinions will be forthcoming.
The truth seems to be that all the roads are pretty good,--that is, they are all very hilly and rather soft. One expects the hills, and must put up with the sand. It is impossible to get to Springfield, which is far on the other side of the mountains, without making some stiff grades,--few grades so bad as Nelson"s Hill out of Peekskill, or worse than Pride"s Hill near Fonda; in fact, the grades through the Berkshires are no worse than many short stiff grades that are to be found in any rolling country, but there are more of them, and occasionally the road is rough or soft, making it hard going.
The road commonly recommended as the more direct is by way of Dalton and Hinsdale, following as closely as possible the line of the Boston and Albany; this winds about in the valleys and is said to be very good.
We preferred a more picturesque though less travelled route. We wished to go through Lenox, some six or seven miles to the south, and if anything a little to the west, and therefore out of our direct course.
The road from Pittsfield to Lenox is a famous drive, one of the wonders of that little world. It is not bad, neither is it good.
Compared with the superb State road over the mountain, it is a trail over a prairie. As a matter of fact, it is just a broad, graded, and somewhat improved highway, too rough for fast speed and comfort, and on the Sat.u.r.day morning in question dust was inches deep.
The day was fine, the country beautiful; hills everywhere, hills so high they were almost mountains. The dust of summer was on the foliage, a few late blossoms lingered by the roadside, but for the most part flowers had turned to seeds, and seeds were ready to fall. The fields were in stubble, hay in the mow and straw in the stack. The green of the hills was deeper in hue, the valleys were ripe for autumn.
People were flocking to the Berkshires from seash.o.r.e and mountains; the "season" was about to begin in earnest; hotels were filled or rapidly filling, and Lenox--dear, peaceful little village in one of nature"s fairest hollows--was most enticing as we pa.s.sed slowly through, stopping once or twice to make sure of our very uncertain way.
The slowest automobile is too fast for so delightful a spot as Lenox. One should amble through on a palfrey, or walk, or, better still, pa.s.s not through at all, but tarry and dream the days away until the last leaves are off the trees. But the habit of the automobile is infectious, one goes on and on in spite of all attractions, the appeals of nature, the protests of friends.
Ulysses should have whizzed by the Sirens in an auto. The Wandering Jew, if still on his rounds, should buy a machine; it will fit his case to a nicety; his punishment will become a habit; he will join an automobile club, go on an endurance contest, and, in the brief moments allowed him for rest and oiling up, will swap stories with the boys.
With a sigh of relief, one finishes a long day"s run, thinking it will suffice for many a day to come; the evening is scarce over before elfin suggestions of possible rides for the morrow are floating about in the air, and when morning comes the automobile is taken out,--very much as the toper who has sworn off the night before takes his morning dram,--it just can"t be helped.
Our way lay over October Mountain by a road not much frequented.
In the morning"s ride we did not meet a trap of any kind or a rider,--something quite unusual in that country of riders and drivers. The road seemed to cling to the highest hills, and we climbed up and up for hours. Only once was the grade so steep that we were obliged to dismount. We pa.s.sed through no village until we reached the other side, but every now and then we would come to a little clearing with two or three houses, possibly a forlorn store and a silent blacksmith shop; these spots seemed even more lonely and deserted than the woods themselves. Man is so essentially a gregarious animal that to come upon a lone house in a wilderness is more depressing than the forests. Nature is never alone; it knows no solitude; it is a mighty whole, each part of which is in constant communication with every other part. Nature needs no telephone; from time immemorial it has used wireless telegraphy in a condition of perfection unknown to man. Every morning Mount Blanc sends a message to Pike"s Peak, and it sends it on over the waters to Fujisan. The bosom of the earth thrills with nervous energy; the air is charged with electric force; the blue ether of the universe throbs with motion. Nature knows no environment; but man is fettered, a spirit in a cage, a mournful soul that seeks companionship in misery. Solitude is a word unknown to nature"s vocabulary. The deepest recesses of the forest teem with life and joyousness until man appears, then they are filled with solitude.
The wind-swept desert is one of nature"s play-grounds until man appears, then it is barren with solitude. The darkest mountain cavern echoes with nature"s laughter until man appears, then it is hollow with solitude. The shadow of man is solitude.
Instead of coming out at Becket as we expected, we found ourselves way down near Otis and West Otis, and pa.s.sed through North Blandford and Blandford to Fairfield, where we struck the main road.
We stopped for dinner at a small village a few miles from Westfield. There was but one store, but it kept a barrel of stove gasoline in an apple orchard. The gasoline was good, but the gallon measure into which it was drawn had been used for oil, varnish, turpentine, and every liquid a country store is supposed to keep--not excepting mola.s.ses. It was crusted with sediment and had a most evil smell. Needless to say the measure was rejected; but that availed little, since the young clerk poured the gasoline back into the barrel to draw it out again into a cleaner receptacle.
The gasoline for sale at country stores is usually all right, but it is handled in all sorts of receptacles; the only safe way is to ask for a bright and new dipper and let the store-keeper guess at the measure.
At Westfield the spark began to give trouble; the machine was very slow in starting, as if the batteries were weak; but that could not be, for one set was fresh and the other by no means exhausted.
A careful examination of every connection failed to disclose any breaks in the circuit, and yet the spark was of intermittent strength,--now good, now weak.
When there is anything wrong with an automobile, there is but one thing to do, and that is find the source of the trouble and remedy it. The temptation is to go on if the machine starts up unexpectedly. We yielded to the temptation, and went on as soon as the motor started; the day was so fine and we were so anxious to get to Worcester that we started with the motor,--knowing all the time that whatever made the motor slow to start would, in all likelihood, bring us to a stand-still before very long; the evil moment, possibly the evil hour, may be postponed, but seldom the evil day.