The Cabman's Story

The Mysteries of a London 'Growler'

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We had to take a "growler," for the day looked rather threatening and
we agreed that it would be a very bad way of beginning our holiday by
getting wet, especially when Fanny was only just coming round from
the whooping cough. Holidays were rather scarce with us, and when we
took one we generally arranged some little treat, and went in for
enjoying ourselves. On this occasion we were starting off from
Hammersmith to the Alexandra Palace in all the dignity of a
four-wheeler. What with the wife and her sister, and Tommy and Fanny
and Jack, the inside was pretty well filled up, so I had to look out
for myself. I didn't adopt the plan of John Gilpin under similar
circumstances, but I took my waterproof and climbed up beside the
driver.

This driver was a knowing-looking old veteran, with a weather-beaten
face and white side whiskers. It has always seemed to me that a London
cabman is about the shrewdest of the human race, but this specimen
struck me as looking like the shrewdest of the cabmen. I tried to draw
him out a bit as we jogged along, for I am always fond of a chat; but
he was a bit rusty until I oiled his tongue with glass of gin when we
got as far as the "Green Anchor." Then he rattled away quickly enough,
and some of what he said is worth trying to put down in black and white.

"Wouldn't a hansom pay me better?" he said, in answer to a question
of mine. "Why, of course it would. But look at the position! A
four-wheeler's a respectable conveyance, and the driver of it's a
respectable man, but you can't say that of a rattling, splashing
'ansom. Any boy would do for that job. Now, to my mind money hain't
to be compared to position, whatever a man's trade may be."

"Certainly not!" I answered.

"Besides, I've saved my little penny, and I'm got too old to change
my ways. I've begun on a growler, and I'll end on one. If you'll
believe me, sir, I've been on the streets for seven-and-forty year."

"That's a long time," I said.

"Well, it's long for our trade," he replied. "You see, there
ain't no other in the world that takes the steam out of a man so quickly--
what with wet and cold and late hours, and maybe no hours at all. There's
few that lasts at it as long as I have."

"You must have seen a deal of the world during that time," I
remarked. "There are few men who can have greater opportunities of
seeing life."

"The world!" he grunted, flicking up the horse with his whip. "I've
seen enough of it to be well-nigh sick of it. As to life, if you'd
said death, you'd ha' been nearer the mark."