The scene I have just described was reproduced in part, the Driver, however, being eliminated from it. I thought I was standing beside Antaeus when the young lady appeared, only to disappear. As she went I sighed regretfully, whereupon something happened which ought to have surprised me, and would have done so anywhere else than in a dream. As if in sympathy with me, Antaeus heaved a sigh also—a most ponderous one—and thus addressed me:
“I can understand your feelings,” he said, in a low, hoarse voice. “You are longing for what seems the unattainable. Alas! so am I. We might mingle our tears,” he went on, beginning to exude moisture around the gauges; “or better still,” he added, as if struck by an idea, “perhaps we can be of assistance to each other.”
“In what way?” I asked, dubiously.
“I might help you to know her if you would help me to an acquaintance with the charming Electra.”
Intuitively I divined that Electra must be the steam fire-engine. Big, brawny Antaeus was in love! The ludicrousness of the notion did not strike me then as it did afterward. On the contrary, it seemed to be one of the most natural things imaginable.
“Yes,” he said, in response to my thoughts, “I am passionately enamored of her. I desire unutterably to gain her friendship, her esteem, her love—even though she may scorn me. I realize that her station in life is far above mine. I am only a plodder, while she is—Did you see her pass me like a flash of light this afternoon? Was she not entrancing, enthralling, irresistible! Ah, me! when she bestows her love it will be upon one of those fast, dashing railway fellows, I dare say. Yet I should like her to know that I am her friend, that I would risk any danger, that I would go through the torments of—of the repair shop, that I would give my last puff to serve her. I may be ugly and slow-going, and awkward and ungainly—Do you think I am so very ungainly, that is, for one in my walk of life?” he broke off, in rather piteous query.
“Not at all,” I hastened to assure him; “when we consider your great adaptability to your—your vocation, I am sure your form would be considered remarkably symmetrical.”
“Thank you!” he exclaimed, gratefully, “and whether or not such be the case, at least I am honest and straightforward and true-hearted, though I do blow my own whistle in saying it.”
“You certainly are.”
“Then I trust I am not too aspiring in wishing to be numbered among Electra's friends. I hope she would not be ashamed to acknowledge me if she met me in the street.”