The Cabmans Story

The Cabman's Story

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Title: The Cabman's Story The Mysteries of a London 'Growler'
Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
Release Date: December 26, 2005 [EBook #17398]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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CABMAN'S STORY ***

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THE CABMAN'S STORY
The Mysteries of a London "Growler"
By Arthur Conan Doyle

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 weathered face
and white side whiskers. It has always seemed to me 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 fond of a chat; but he was a bit rusty until
I oiled his tongue 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 on
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 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 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 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' said death,
you'd ha' been nearer the mark."
"Death!" I ejaculated.
"Yes, death," he said. "Why, bless your soul, sir, if I was to write down
all I've seen since I've been in the trade, there's not a mate in London
would believe me, unless maybe some o' the other cabbies. I tell ye I
took a dead man for a fare once, and drove about with him nigh half the
night. Oh, you needn't look shocked sir, for this wasn't the cab--no, nor
the last one I had neither.
"How did it happen?" I asked, feeling glad, in spite of his assurance,
that Matilda had not heard of the episode.
"Well, it's an old story now," said the driver, putting a small piece of
very black tobacco into the corner of his mouth. "I daresay it's twenty
odd years since it happened, but it's not the kind o' thing as slips out of
a man's memory. It was very late one night, and I was working my
hardest to pick up something good, for I'd made a poor day's work of it.
The theatres had all come out, and though I kept up and down the
Strand till nigh one o'clock, I got nothing but one eighteenpenny job. I
was thinking of giving it up and going