The Moffats (21 page)

A murmur of surprise ran through the trolley. But the motorman heeded this not at all. Up Second Avenue he steered the trolley, stepping on the bell like anything every time he saw a dog, and muttering to himself the whole way. The children watched him in fascination.

"Makes me wait every time, does he?" he was saying to himself. "Makes me wait every day down here.
He's
supposed to wait up there at the other switch once't in a while. 'I'll tell the chief,' I said to him. 'Tell the chief,' he said to me. Tell the chief I did. 'Fight it out for yourself,' he said to me. I'll show 'im! I'll show 'im!"

The children looked at one another. Excitement! They looked ahead. Way, way down the car line, under the arch of elm trees, they could see it now! Could see the other trolley coming right toward them! Just a little speck it was at the other end of Second Avenue. But bigger and bigger as it drew near. The nearer it came, the more excitedly the motorman clumped down on his bell. Pretty soon they

were near enough to hear the other motorman clump down on
his
bell.

Although their hearts began to beat fast, Joe, Jane, and Rufus said and did nothing. The others in the trolley, roused out of their lethargy, first ran to the motorman and implored him to stop. But the motorman was deaf to all entreaties. So the passengers all ran to the back of the car to get as far as possible from what looked like an inevitable crash. Some uttered silent prayers.

And imagine what this looked like to people along Second Avenue! Windows were thrown up and amazed heads stuck out of them. Everybody on the street stopped to stare and wave their arms about in excitement. Old Mrs. Squire, who was carrying a basket of apples to her nephew, grew so frantic she actually threw apples at the motorman and screamed, "Go back, go back."

Such a thing was unheard of! Two trolleys on the same track, one going north, the other going south, could do only one thing—meet with a crash. And how ridiculous in broad daylight! If there were a fog now, like in London, that would be a different matter; but broad daylight! That's what all the people thought, anyway.

"Go back! Go back!" The cry was taken up by everyone along the street, some running to one car, some to the other, trying by emphatic waves of the arms to indicate what they meant, as though motormen were altogether deaf or else quite daft. There was some talk of calling out the fire department. Finally Mrs. Squire did sound the alarm. "A hose will do much," she screamed.

All these people did not reckon, though, on the motorman. For he had a head on his shoulders. And so, for that matter, did the enemy motorman. But how good his head was and whether he'd choose to use it, that was the question.

The nearer the two cars came to one another the slower they ran, although both motormen kept up that hullabaloo of clumping down on the bells. Finally they were just edging toward one another like great tawny tigers at bay. At last they came to a dead stop, nose to nose, just as the hook and ladder arrived.

Now what would happen? Joe, Jane, and Rufus were shivery with tense excitement. Yes, it had required a great deal of nerve and trust in their motorman not to jump off when things looked so bad a while back.

"They oughta have pistols or a sword to fight it out," said Rufus.

But they didn't need pistols. Their tongues did quite well. Such a row there was as quiet Second Avenue had never before heard. Mrs. Squire said she would write a letter of complaint to the newspaper and recommend that

the new Second Avenue line be removed. The town of Cranbury had gotten along for centuries without it and could again. Newfangled notions, these one-man trolleys with their one-track contraptions! But no one paid any attention to her. They were listening to the motormen. Except for the firemen, of course. They were crawling over and under the two trolleys looking for the fire. And everyone was listening too hard to what the motormen were saying to tell them that there was no fire.

The Moffats' motorman was an old man with a walrus mustache. He wore his hat straight over his eyes and took this business of driving a trolley car very seriously. The enemy trolley had a young motorman who wore his hat tipped on the back of his head and sat all slouchy on his stool. Yes, the picture of impudence.

"Hey, you old sardine, you!" he bawled in a most insulting tone of voice. "You were supposed to wait. What's a matter with your eyes? Didn't ya see the red light?"

"Yeah, you young whippersnapper. I saw the light all right, all right. Same's I do every trip. And I'm sick of seein' those red lights, see? You're supposed to wait up there at the upper switch half the time. At least until two-thirty. Do you ever do it? No, you do not. My people wants to git home, just as much as your'n wants to be off. It's a fifty-fifty proposition. Now back up your car to the other switch or I'll..."

And he edged his car an inch nearer, menacingly.

"Why, you old sardine..." sputtered the other.

More angry words followed, but the young motorman could see the old one would never yield an inch. On the contrary, he was getting in such a dither he was all but climbing out of the front end of his trolley to shake his fist in the other man's face. Goodness knows what a man of his temperament might not do. Moreover, the worst of it was the old geezer was right. Chief had just said to him the other day, "Look here, O'Brien. On the two-thirty trolley you're supposed to wait for old McCann at the upper switch until two-thirty on the dot. If he's not there then, you can go. Otherwise wait, get me?"

Oh, it was clear the young motorman did not have a leg to stand on. Moreover, the sentiment of all the onlookers was on the old motorman's side. So he said, "All right, you old sardine, you. But you'll hear from the chief about this. Endangerin' the lives of the citizens of Cranbury, that's what it amounts to."

Then he tipped his hat still farther back on his forehead. He assumed an air of great nonchalance and took the driving gear to the other end of his trolley. The firemen cleared the way, and Motorman O'Brien, defeated, started back the way he had come, old McCann following close behind, all but butting him in the rear like an angry bull. The people cheered. The firemen sounded their siren and went back to the firehouse. Mrs. Squire looked around for some of her apples to take to her nephew, but the little boys had gotten most of them. The yellow dogs ran up the street after the yellow trolleys, yelping and growling.

At last the enemy O'Brien's trolley was safely lodged on the side switch and the Moffats' trolley sailed triumphantly up the track to Sandy Beach, where Joe, Jane, and Rufus got off. Phew! That had been a ride and worth a nickel, if not more!

Nothing that happened that afternoon—swimming, ducking, digging for clams, catching snails—nothing could come up to that trolley ride. That trolley ride! There was something to tell Mama about!

The Moffats were moving! They were going to live in a different house on a different street altogether. Yes, it was really so! The yellow house had been sold! Those Murdocks did buy it! So this was the last, the very last day in the yellow house. No wonder everybody was going around with a lump in his throat. But there was also a feeling of expectancy and excitement. This was the way it happened finally that the sign had come down and that they had to move.

Joe, Jane, and Rufus were on their way home from an afternoon at Sandy Beach. They had spent so many hours there this summer that Rufus's naturally dark skin was darker than ever, though Joe and Jane were pink and peeling. As they turned from Elm Street into New Dollar Street their steps quickened. As always, it felt good to be going home to the yellow house, to kiss Mama, to smell what was cooking for supper. Oh, they could hardly wait—and although they were tired from the long walk home, they had broken into a run when they passed Chief Mulligan's house.

"Beat you home," shouted Jane, and they all raced up the street, past the Pudges', past the Frosts', past the Shoemakers', past the disapproving Mrs. Squire's, and with a whoop through the gate of their own yellow house. There they stopped short. The sign was down! The For Sale sign which they hated so, but which they knew, while it was still tacked up there, meant they could live in the yellow house, the sign was down!

"It's gone!" screamed Jane.

"The sign's down!" said Joe.

"Mama," yelled Rufus.

Mama met them at the door. She drew them all to her in a huge hug.

"Yes," she said. "The sign is down! The house has sold! And who do you think bought it? Of course. Those Murdocks! Dr. Witty was here this afternoon and he tore down the sign. 'Well,' he said, 'the house has sold! Thank goodness!' he said. And he said he was very sorry to lose us as tenants. He was very nice but still he said we would have to move. He gave us one month to look for another place. Now don't feel too badly. You know we have sort of known this was bound to happen all year long."

It was true. They had sort of known it. And yet they couldn't help feeling stunned. Rufus didn't remember living in any other house. He had learned to talk, learned to walk, and had five birthdays and five Christmases in this house. Jane had made paper dolls, studied through the thirteen colonies in school, knew every inch of this house except the little-used dirt cellar, and had flown down the stairs hundreds of times even if it was just in her dreams. And Joe and Sylvie, although they remembered the old house across the way and remembered Papa, too, they had always felt this yellow house would be theirs forever. But wasn't a month a long way off?