I take this opportunity of offering to the great and polite one my little tribute of gratitude in the name of all the spinsters, widows, nursemaids, and puppy dogs who cross the street in the security of his outstretched hand. And of all maiden ladies, English and American, who seek his advice and ask him perplexing questions, which he alone can answer, for he is admittedly a combination of the street directory, the dictionary, and the "Encyclopædia Britannica" up-to-date. I have often wondered if he ever unbends? Does he ever take off his boots and his helmet, or does he sleep in them? Does he ever sit down? It must be a great joy and pride to be his wife, to be, as it were, on such friendly terms with the traffic. I am sure that, if she loves him, she asks him no questions.
Here, I really must digress just enough to say that until women can be policemen, and can stand like magnificent statues in the turmoil of vehicles and direct the tumult with one finger--without a moment's confusion--not until then will I believe that they have been chosen by destiny to do man's work. Bless the policeman! May his wages be raised--he deserves it!
The temporary power of a cabman is often concentrated in a moment of intense anguish for his fare when, if a four-wheeler, he rolls off his box, stares at the money dropped into a very dirty paw, makes a speech which ranges from reproach to vituperation, and follows you until a beneficent front door closes on your anguish. He has it in his power to take the bloom from the smartest toilette.
There is no one in the whole range of civilisation who has such a power to inflict humiliation on one as a cabman! He has that delicate perception that he knows just when his remarks will cut like a lash. He always grumbles on principle, and you would rather give him your whole fortune than have him make a spectacle of you before those other temporaries, the footmen. As if he didn't know it, and as if he didn't always choose the noblest of these as witnesses! You know that you have overpaid him, and so does he, but he follows you with running remarks, in the form of a soliloquy, which increase in virulence as you flee before him, and which produce that peculiar contortion of face in the well-bred footman, in which a grin battles with a countenance of stone.