RoBards took reassurance from the irony of this taunt, sorry as he felt for the poor, life-beaten woman before him. He nodded and touched his hat, and she stepped aside to let him pass.
He could only hope that she would not visit the house in his absence. He caught a quick look from Keith’s eyes—a look of proud complicity. During the long drive the boy’s hand kept stealing round his arm and patting it encouragingly.
They reached the railroad station just in time. The cars were so crowded that it was hard to squeeze aboard. It seemed that the whole countryside was drained of its populace.
Everybody was bound for New York. Everybody had on his best or hers. The day was glorious and the world in a holiday mood. Many of the people carried baskets of food. The silliest joke brought guffaws of success and idiotic repartee.
RoBards was hailed by clients and other acquaintances: “Here’s lawyer RoBards!” “How air ye, Jedge?” “Well, we put up a good fight, but I guess it was a good thing we got licked.” “That’s right; you never know your luck.” “Bigger N’ York grows, the better it’ll be for all of us.” “They’ll want plenty o’ butter ’n’ eggs down to the setty. We got water enough to dieloot the melk and then spare some for the pore town rats.”
The engine whistled. Everybody jumped. The bell rang. Everybody cheered. The locomotive puffed and strained and jerked and the carriages began to move.
Keith leaned far out of the window while his father held his heels. He saw the engine rolling round a curve with a brave choo-choo. Immy was content to wonder at the people, their funny hats and gay clothes. But Keith wanted to know how the engine ran without horses. His father had such a hard time explaining the modern miracle, that Keith offered to bet they had a couple of horses hidden in the old engine somewhere.
It was appalling how fast they went. The landscape was a blur. “The horses are running away!” Keith yelled and then came in yowling, bringing an eyeful of coal dust. It was hard to get him to open his eyes till the grime was washed out. RoBards found an allegory in that: how human it was to clench the eyes and the heart tight upon what hurt them most; how hard it was to persuade people to let go what they could not endure.
The carriages rocked and threatened to capsize. Women squealed and baskets came tumbling down from the racks. An umbrella almost transfixed the hat of one fluttering farm-wife.
Everybody agreed that the steam locomotive was the devil’s own invention—something unchristian about it; folks would soon go back to horses like God meant them to. No wonder some God-fearing souls had risen to forbid the use of the schoolhouse for meetings in the interest of this contraption of Beelzebub.