A Young Man in a Hurry, and Other Short StoriesChambers, Robert W. (Robert William)
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A Young Man in a Hurry, and Other Short Stories
Chambers, Robert W. (Robert William)
Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"Oh, there you are!" he panted, flinging his suit-case up to a
snow-covered driver. "Do your best now; we're late!" And he leaped into
the dark coupe, slammed the door, and sank back on the cushions, turning
up the collar of his heavy overcoat.
There was a young lady in the farther corner of the cab, buried to her
nose in a fur coat. At intervals she shivered and pressed a fluffy muff
against her face. A glimmer from the sleet-smeared lamps fell across her
knees.
Down-town flew the cab, swaying around icy corners, bumping over
car-tracks, lurching, rattling, jouncing, while its silent occupants,
huddled in separate corners, brooded moodily at their respective
windows.
Snow blotted the glass, melting and running down; and over the watery
panes yellow light from shop windows played fantastically, distorting
vision.
Presently the young man pulled out his watch, fumbled for a match-box,
struck a light, and groaned as he read the time.
At the sound of the match striking, the young lady turned her head.
Then, as the bright flame illuminated the young man's face, she sat bolt
upright, dropping the muff to her lap with a cry of dismay.
He looked up at her. The match burned his fingers; he dropped it and
hurriedly lighted another; and the flickering radiance brightened upon
the face of a girl whom he had never before laid eyes on.
"Good heavens!" he said. "Where's my sister?"
The young lady was startled, but resolute. "You have made a dreadful
mistake," she said; "you are in the wrong cab--"
The match went out; there came a brief moment of darkness, then the cab
turned a corner, and the ghostly light of electric lamps played over
them in quivering succession.
"Will you please stop this cab?" she said, unsteadily. "You have
mistaken my cab for yours. I was expecting my brother."
Stunned, he made no movement to obey. A sudden thrill of fear passed
through her.
"I must ask you to stop this cab," she faltered.
The idiotic blankness of his expression changed to acute alarm.
"Stop this cab?" he cried. "Nothing on earth can induce me to stop this
cab!"
"You must!" she insisted, controlling her voice. "You must stop it at
once!"
"How can I?" he asked, excitedly; "I'm late now; I haven't one second to
spare!"
"Do you refuse to leave this cab?"
"I beg that you will compose yourself--"
"Will you go?" she insisted.
A jounce sent them flying towards each other; they collided and
recoiled, regarding one another in breathless indignation.
"This is simply hideous!" said the young lady, seizing the door-handle.
"Please don't open that door!" he said. She tried to wrench it open; the
handle stuck--or perhaps the strength had left her wrist. But it was
not courage that failed, for she faced him, head held high, and--
"You coward!" she said.
Over his face a deep flush burned--and it was a good face,
too--youthfully wilful, perhaps, with a firm, clean-cut chin and
pleasant eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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