Chapter XXXV: A Day of Trouble and Distress

Whether because I did not kiss the Blarney stone, or for some other reason, the next day was one of trouble and distress. Indeed, it came near being our last day. For several days I had noticed that the self-starter was not working well. Several times it had failed to catch and required a good deal of coaxing. I could not understand it, for it was not yet three weeks since I had filled the batteries with water, which, I had been told, was all that was necessary to insure its functioning. I thought that possibly the damp weather had affected the electrical current, and could only hope that with clearing weather there would be no further trouble. But at the next stop the little engine refused to act at all, and I had to unpack the handle and crank, which is an exercise good for neither the back nor the temper!

A little later we came to a road which branched from the highway to the left, and Ruth, who had charge of the map, called out: "To the right." I leave it to you: would not you have thought that meant to _turn_ somewhere? If not, why not say: "Keep straight on." At any rate, I turned sharp into the left-hand road, only to find that we were in a _cul-de-sac_. Turning was impossible, so I kept on, wondering why Ruth, who must have known how tired I was, should have driven me into such a place!

Finally, we came to a gate, and as I did not dare leave the car lest it stall--we were on an incline which tipped the car back and made cranking difficult--I asked Ruth to get out and open the gate. I saw that just beyond there was a place where, with great care the car might be turned, but where the chances of stalling were great. Still, I thought, if I could keep the car going I might manage it. I called to Ruth not to get in and began slowly to turn. The road was just the width of the wheels, with a bog on each side. Looking up I saw a huge dog lying in the way. It was as ugly a looking brute as one would wish to see, even if it was chained. I blew the horn. It did not stir. Then, to my horror, I saw Ruth, who is more afraid of a dog than I am of a cat, which is saying a good deal, seize the brute by the tail and begin to drag it out of the way! I turned sick with terror, and, under the nervous strain, did what I have not done since I was in college--_swore_. "Damnation," I cried, "turn that dog loose!" And Ruth, equally excited, answered in a fine frenzy: "I would pull him if he were a mad bull!"

Fortunately, the dog made no resistance, and the car was safely turned. Had it stalled, I do not know what I should have done, for I was "all in."

One would have thought this was enough for one day, but worse was yet to come. About an hour later we came to a railway crossing. All the level crossings are not on Long Island! There are several in Ireland! This one was kept by a woman, with, I think, the saddest face I ever saw. She opened the gate and thanked me for the six-pence I handed her, but neither smiled nor spoke.

We passed onto the track and, probably because I was so tired and was driving carelessly, we stalled. I was about to get out to crank when the woman appeared at my side, and said, so quietly that Ruth could not hear: "It would maybe be better if the lady got out. The Dublin express is due round the curve at any minute!" Could anything have been more considerate? Had she screamed, I fear I should have been so unnerved that we should have been lost.

At that moment the engine of the approaching train gave a shriek and I could feel the rails vibrate. My blood turned to water. We were pinned under the hood, and escape seemed impossible. Almost without knowing what I was doing, I stamped on the pedal of the self-starter, and--I say it reverently--by the mercy of God it caught, and we slid off the track as the express thundered by!

The rushing wind nearly blew us out of the motor. There could not have been a yard between us and the train. I looked at Ruth. She was as pale as death, but spoke no word. You may be sure I did not forget a thank-offering to the poor gatekeeper, who was white with terror.

As we went on our way I said to myself: "If ever we reach an inn in safety, I will give the car away. The impudent driver who said he wondered Ruth would risk her life with me was right."

But it was long before we reached an inn, for I lost my way! This time it was not Ruth's fault. She was probably so shaken that she could not see the way; at any rate she gave me the wrong road, and we wandered over the hills until we were nearly distracted. When we reached Ross late at night you may believe neither of us had much appetite for the greasy supper which was set before us.

Suddenly, without a word of warning, Ruth put her head down on the table and burst into tears! It was so unlike her that I was dreadfully frightened. I got her to bed and put a hot-water bottle to her feet, and sat by her till she was more quiet, and then went outside in the rain to smoke a pipe, and "represent myself to myself." When I had flagellated myself for all my ill temper, and returned thanks for the mercies of the day, I too went to bed, but not to sleep for many an hour. When at last I did fall asleep, it was only to dream of a huge dog, rushing down a railroad track, whistling like a locomotive and breathing streams of fire from his mouth. It doesn't take a Freud to interpret that dream!

In spite of my troubled night, or perhaps in consequence of it, I woke early. The sun was streaming into my bedroom as if to say: "Sluggard, arise. I was only fooling yesterday when I pretended that Ireland had a rainy climate. To-day is like Italy, and even the dirty streets of Ross are beautiful!"

My mind was quickly made up, and as soon as I was dressed I made my way to the station and found that I could ship the motor to Dublin on a flat car and that it would be delivered to us there the next morning. So I returned to the garage and drove to the station, feeling not unlike Tartarin, when he sold the _chameau_ for a ticket in the diligence, which, Daudet remarks, is not a bad use to make of a camel!

Ruth was more relieved, I am sure, than she cared to show, when she learned that she might have a quiet morning in bed and take the train for Dublin in the afternoon.

As we entered the dining-room of the Shelburne that evening, whom should we meet but the Hodges? This was a joy to Ruth, who, I knew, would find rest in telling her story to her sympathetic friend Anne, and a satisfaction to me, for I knew there was nothing about motors hid from her husband, the professor. Indeed, it was he who had advised me to buy a Frontenac, though he himself is "a man who owns one," and was driving his big Packard, with comfort and pride.

When he had recovered from his hilarity over my experiences, he said that next morning we would look over the car and find the trouble with the self-starter, while Ruth and Anne were shopping for linen and laces.

The car was ready for us when we arrived at the Goods station, next morning, and we drove to the garage for a consultation.

There seemed to be nothing wrong with the engine, nor with the connections, but, when we examined the batteries, we found that they had run down! I explained that I had filled them myself not two weeks ago, but when the professor saw that I had failed to note the date on the little card for that purpose, it was evident that he was sceptical. Well, there was nothing more to do but to have the batteries charged again, and as the man of the garage seemed to be a capable fellow, I hoped I should have no more trouble.

We spent two pleasant days in Dublin, saw where Sir Frederick Cavendish had been murdered--this is not mentioned as one of the pleasures! And then went to the cathedral and thought of the savage old dean whom Thackeray has so wonderfully described--perhaps the best of all his portraits--then to Trinity College, where I confess, Charles O'Malley was more real to me than some of the scholars who have made illustrious that ancient seat of learning.

The professor is not "sound" on Irish politics, but when we went to Dublin Castle and saw some of the young men whom England sends to govern the most imaginative people on earth, even he had to admit that things might be improved! Supercilious good manners in an atmosphere of boredom is not the best means for impressing the Irish with the intelligence, nor even with the justice, of England.

The weather was again "set fair," so that we left Ireland in a blaze of glory. The Hodges were on their way to the Giant's Causeway. But when I told them they would find the roads bad, the professor remarked that no doubt all the roads were bad in the south, and that when Home Rule went into effect those of the north would be equally so, but that while the Union Jack floated over Belfast, and the Protestant religion was still a power, he had no fear! So we parted--perhaps it was time!

We crossed to Hollyhead, and, the car running like a witch, it was not long before we reached the Waterloo, where John greeted us as if he had not thought of any one else since we were last there!