Chapter 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.