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Updated: June 23, 2025
Finally the horses started and the 'bus moved slowly up the road. Sam was impatient. His fellow countrymen were risking their lives thousands of miles away, and here he was, creeping along a country road in the disguise of a private citizen, far away from the post of duty and danger. He looked with disgust at the plowmen in the fields busily engaged in preparing the soil for next year's grain.
"We're all sophs but one greeny," called one of the girls. "Glad to see you, Jessie Pease." "Thank you, Miss. The new one is to go to the Madame at once. That is the order. Let her go before supper." The driver snapped his whip and the 'bus rumbled on. The drive was winding and the trees soon hid the lighted lodge. But other bright lamps began to appear ahead.
"If she's not here to take your part go choose another with all your heart!" I heard wheels then, nearer than the singing, the clumsy rumble of our big yellow 'bus. Voices were borne to me, Clem's voice, Miss Caroline's and another not like her's, a voice firmer, yet a dusky-warm woman's voice. That was all I could think of at the time: perhaps the night suggested it; they had qualities in common.
This work he told me was his "chef de hover," and he volunteered to furnish me with a copy of it on cardboard for half a crown, and to deliver it at my lodgings for his 'bus fare and a drink. I closed with that proposal and in a week's time he brought the work to me.
Rather than get either of them into trouble I would cheerfully have thrown myself in front of the next motor bus, but if such an extreme course could be avoided I certainly had no wish to end my life in that or any other abrupt fashion until I had had the satisfaction of a few minutes' quiet conversation with George. I blamed myself to a certain extent for having given way to Joyce.
"'Other one? I ses, 'wot other one? "Cap'n Tarbell shook his 'ead and smiled like a silly gal. "'She fell in love with me on top of a bus in the Mile End Road, he ses. 'Love at fust sight it was. She's a widder lady with a nice little 'ouse at Bow, and plenty to live on-her 'usband having been a builder. I don't know what to do.
But she was spared to a merciful extent, for nothing happened on any of the 'buses they boarded, except that, as they crossed the Canal, a cloud of sea-gulls swooped and swirled into the 'bus, resting awhile on the passengers' willing shoulders before disappearing again. Also the passengers on the Baker Street stretch sang part-songs, all the way down to Selfridge's.
"I'm working my ass off." "I loved your story, by the way," she said. "I could see that balding bus boy carefully loading his cart. But I wanted more." "Yeah," Joe said. "I can't tell you how many times I've thought of that guy. Did I tell you that I started a novel?" "No," Mo said. "You're right about the stories. They aren't enough. It's a new experience for me a novel.
There was the driver of a bus I used to ride on pretty often, and if he felt like talking, he'd always begin, 'As I was a-saying of yesterday Well, that's the general idea to repeat what they were a-sayin' of yesterday; and it doesn't matter two cents that the rest of the world has changed the subject.
I had various women friends on whom I would call towards five o'clock, mainly to discuss my thoughts that I could not bring to a man without meeting some competing thought, but partly because their tea & toast saved my pennies for the 'bus ride home; but with women, apart from their intimate exchanges of thought, I was timid and abashed.
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