Part 3 (2/2)

But Aunt Polly was by no means easily moved. She still, to the no small vexation of the driver, kept on saying that she could not ride on the middle seat. In this state of things one of the gentlemen undertook the task of settling matters, and, addressing me, inquired which seat I preferred. All the instructions which I had received at once rushed to my mind. Now was the time to put them in practice--to let it be known that I was not going to give up my seat to any one, certainly not to one who had no claim to it. So drawing myself up to my full height--which was nothing to boast of, by the way--I answered with becoming dignity, ”I prefer the back seat, sir.”

He then turned to my companion, and said, ”Which seat do you prefer?”

”It makes no difference with me, sir,” was the modest reply.

A smile pa.s.sed over the face of the gentleman--a smile which evidently indicated one of two things; either that he thought my companion showed her ignorance of the world, in making herself of so little consequence, and seeming to say, ”You may do what you please with me;”

or he thought my reply very old for one of my years. Which was it? Ah, that was the question. I could not forget that peculiar smile. In fact, you see I have not forgotten it yet. It seemed to mean something; but what did it mean? Oh, how I wanted to know exactly what it meant, and how carefully I watched, to see if I could not find out.

The matter of seats was soon arranged to the satisfaction of all parties. The old lady and myself had the back seat, while my companion took the middle seat. I observed that the above-named gentleman pa.s.senger offered several polite attentions to my companion, while he did not seem to notice me at all, although I had let him know that I was a person of so much consequence. This might be accounted for by the fact that she was seated very near him, while my seat was more distant, or there might be some other cause for it.

The opinion of a stranger whom I never expected again to meet, was not in itself of any great importance; yet it certainly had a bearing on the question whether or not my traveling instructions were of the right kind. If they were, my answer was certainly the right one, and calculated to make a favorable impression upon the minds of my fellow pa.s.sengers. But when I tried to look at the affair in this light, I was disturbed by a secret thought that I should have had a more comfortable feeling of self-respect, if I had given up the back seat--for which, after all, I did not care a straw--to an aged female, who really thought she could not ride on the middle seat.

When I returned home, I related the incident to Miss Tompkins, the seamstress whose directions I had undertaken to follow, and also frankly owned that I was not quite sure which reply had caused that peculiar smile. She a.s.sured me there could be no doubt on that point.

”The gentleman was amused at the ignorance of the world which that other girl showed. He thought she was not much, or she would not so readily step aside, and give up her _rights_ to any one who might choose to claim them.”

But I was by no means convinced of the truth of this statement of the case; and when I was a little older, I came to such conclusions on the subject that I believe I have never tried, since that time, to establish my claim to be a person of consequence by similar means.

Indeed, to tell the truth, I have not thought much of the wisdom of these instructions, from that day to this; and I certainly would not recommend to you, my young friend, that which I have turned out of my own service, as useless lumber. Seriously, I do not think you will ever suffer in the opinion of your fellow travelers, by being kind and obliging, and showing that you do not think yourself of so much consequence as to forget there is any one else in the world. When a person takes pains to impress others with a sense of his importance, it almost always excites a suspicion that he is trying to pa.s.s for something more than he really is. It does not require all this show and pretension to keep the place which really belongs to him, and to attempt more than this, will only draw upon him neglect and contempt.

To this chapter in the experience of Aunt Kate, I feel very much like adding a word or two, ”by way of improvement,” as the ministers say.

But on second thought, I guess it will be as well to let you use the diving bell, and see if you cannot bring out the improvement yourselves.

VI.

”TRY THE OTHER END.”

The other day I came across a man who was tugging with all his might at the wrong end of a lever. That is, he had a great crowbar, almost as large as he could lift, and was bearing down on one end of it, while the block of wood which he had put under it for a _purchase_, was at the same end. He was trying to pry up a large stone in that way. But the stone would not be pryed up. It was a very obstinate stone, the good old farmer thought. He had no notion of giving up the project, however. So he pulled off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work in right good earnest. Still the stone did not stir; or if it did it was only just enough to aggravate the man.

What could be the matter? The stone was not a very large one. It did not look as if it could stand a great deal of prying. What was the matter?

There happened to be a school-boy pa.s.sing that way at the time. He was not much of a farmer, and still less of a mechanic, I should think; but he thought he saw what the trouble was. It did not seem to be so much the lever itself, or the farmer, or the stone to be moved, as in the way the man went to work. The boy ventured to hint this idea to the farmer:

”Why, my dear sir,” he said, ”there is no use in your breaking your neck in that style. You are at the wrong end of the lever. You haven't _purchase_ enough.”

The good-natured farmer (for he _was_ good-natured, and did not get into a pa.s.sion because a mere boy, young enough to be his grand-child, attempted to help him out of his difficulty) the good-natured farmer stopped a moment, looked at the matter carefully, and frankly acknowledged that he had gone the wrong way to work.

”I wonder what on earth I was thinking of,” said he, in his usual blunt language. Of course he s.h.i.+fted his crow-bar immediately, so as to get a good _purchase_. The trouble was all over then. The stone came up easily enough, of course.

It came into my mind while I was thinking about this farmer's mistake in the use of his lever, that certain people--myself included, perhaps--might profit by this blunder.

A great many, for instance, use the lever of _truth_--a very good crow-bar, the best to be had--in overturning moral evils. But they do not accomplish anything, because they take hold of the wrong end of the lever. They have no _purchase_.

Here is a man, who, as I think, is in the habit of wrong doing every day. Well, I settle it in my mind that I will talk to him, and see if I cannot make a better man of him. I look him up, and go to prying at his sin, like a man digging up pine stumps by the job. I call him hard names. Why not? He deserves them. Everybody knows that. I do not mince the matter with him at all. But what I say seems to have no good effect upon him. It makes him angry, and he advises me to mind my own business, a.s.suring me, at the same time, that he shall take good care to mind his.

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