Woods, with a set face, ordered the full strength of his stables to assemble at the station on the first morning to meet the train due just before eleven. The flies and wagonettes took up position; the large new omnibus, on rushing up with uniformed driver and boy conductor, found itself obliged to be satisfied with a place near the cloakroom entrance. As passengers came out Woods and his men attacked them much in the way that highwaymen would have behaved a hundred years before.
“Sixpence all the way!” they shouted. “Here you are, lady! Cheaper than the motor! Here you are, lady, sixpence all the way!”
Perhaps the fierce onslaught was an error in tactics. Perhaps it would have been wiser not to draw attention to the presence of a swifter mode of conveyance. Perhaps the natural independence of Londoners induced them to consider before coming to a decision. A messenger sent to the new omnibus returned with the news that the fare was eightpence—fourpence cheaper than the old fare, but obviously twopence dearer than Mr. Woods’s new tariff.
“Oh, it’s worth it!” cried young ladies. “Do let’s go by motor. We shall get there ever so much quicker.”
Woods likened them, rather bitterly, to sheep. On the two first passengers clambering up to the outside seats the others made a quick rush to secure the remaining places; the inside was filled by those who did not wish to separate from friends, and the new omnibus, after half a minute of irresolution that almost induced Woods to believe in the efficacy of prayer, flew away through the station gates and up the main street of the village, and away out of sight. His men gathered around Mr. Woods and prophesied a breakdown; made recommendations. He ordered them to do nothing but obey orders, and went off to sulk in the smoke-room of the Railway Hotel.
From which tent he was summoned an hour and a half later by a constable of the town, who said definitely:
“Mr. Woods, sir, this won’t do.”
“Go away!” commanded the fly proprietor irritably; “I don’t want your sympathy.”
“It isn’t sympathy I’m giving, it’s a warning. If you don’t call your men off, we shall end in a riot.”
Woods delivered an address after the second motor-omnibus had been allowed to leave the yard with its passengers. The early part of the speech was of an intimate nature and described the treatment to be served out in the case of the staff again disregarding instructions; the punishments ranged from skinning alive to instant dismissal. In the second part, he ordered one to run up to the signwriter in the village. Later, the procession of flies and wagonettes left the station bearing notices, “Ruined by Unfair Competition,” and Woods had the satisfaction of noting that shopkeepers on the line of route came out to inspect; this would have proved more comforting if they had given any additional signs of interest. The procession went at a gallop on noting that away in the distance the second omnibus had stopped, with driver and conductor busy at the front, passengers looking over anxiously. Mr. Woods counted it as part of his luck that as the first wagonette arrived the new conveyance re-started. When, farther on, a man walking shouted an inquiry regarding cats’ meat, he found it difficult not to make use of the whip.