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From the Cabby¡¯s Seat
–O. Henry
Close to the curb stood Jerry O’Donovan¡¯s cab. Night-hawk was Jerry called; but no more lustrous or cleaner hansom¢Ù than his ever closed its doors upon point lace and November violets. And Jerry’s horse! I am within bounds when I tell you that he was stuffed with oats until one of those old ladies who leave their dishes unwashed at home and go about having expressmen arrested, would have smiled¡ªyes, smiled-to have seen him.
Among the shifting, sonorous, pulsing crowd glimpses could be had of Jerry’s high hat, battered by the winds and rains of many years; of his nose like a carrot, battered by the frolicsome¢Ú£¬athletic progeny¢Û of millionaires and by contumacious fares; of his brass-buttoned green coat, admired in the vicinity of McGary’s. It was plain that Jerry had usurped the functions of his cab, and was carrying a “load.” Indeed, the figure may be extended and he be likened to a bread-wagon if we admit the testimony of a youthful spectator, who was heard to remark “Jerry has got a bun.”
From somewhere among the throng in the street or else out of the thin stream of pedestrians a young woman tripped and stood by the cab. The professional hawk¡¯s eye of Jerry caught the movement. He made a lurch for the cab, overturning three or four onlookers and himself~no! he caught the cap of a water-plug and kept his feet. Like a sailor shinning up the ratlins¢Üduring a squall Jerry mounted to his professional seat. Once he was there McGary’s liquids were baffled. He seesawed on the mizzenmast of his craft as safe as a Steeple Jack rigged to the flagpole of a skyscraper.
“Step in, lady,” said Jerry, gathering his lines. The young woman stepped into the cab; the doors shut with a bang; Jerry¡¯s whip cracked in the air; the crowd in the gutter scattered, and the fine hansom dashed away ‘cross town.
When the oat-spry horse had hedged a little his first spurt of speed Jerry broke the lid of his cab and called down through the aperture¢Ýin the voice of a cracked megaphone, trying to please:
“Where, now, will ye be drivin’ to?”
“Anywhere you please,” came up the answer, musical and contented.
“‘Tis drivin1 for pleasure she is,” thought Jerry. And then he suggested as a matter of course:
“Take a trip around in the park, lady. ‘Twill be ilegant cool and fine.”
“Just as you like,” answered the fare, pleasantly.
The cab headed for Fifth avemie and sped up that perfect street. Jerry bounced and swayed in his seat. The potent fluids of McGary were disquieted arid they sent new fumes to his head. He sang an ancient song of Killisnook and brandished his whip like a baton.(Ìáʾ£ºÕâ¸öÂí³µ·òºÈ×íÁË¡££©
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