put his head in, looked all around, shut the door and stopped his
horses. Then he opened the door again and put his head in again,
keeping the door open this time that we might inhale the fresh March
night air. I say we, because when I grew accustomed to the dark, I
saw there was another occupant of the car, a man seated on the
opposite seat a little way down. The conductor felt under the seat
for something which I suppose was the can which, taken presently by
him to the corner grocery before which we had stopped, came back
replenished with coal oil. After he had filled the lamp, he lit in
succession three matches, persistently holding them up so that they
all went out one after the other. He felt in his pockets but he had
no more. Then he asked me. I had none. Then he asked the other man.
The other man laughed and replied in French. I did not understand
what he said but saw him supply the conductor with a couple of
matches. When the lamp was finally lighted I looked more closely at
him. He was a working man from his attire: colored shirt, coat of a
curious bronze colour much affected by the Canadian labourer, old
fur cap with ears, and moccasins. At his feet stood a small tin pail
with a cover. His face was pale and singularly well-cut. His hair was
black and very smooth and shiny; a very slight moustache gave
character to an otherwise effeminate countenance and his eyes were
blue, very light blue indeed and mild in their expression. We smiled
involuntarily as the conductor departed. The man was the first to
speak:
"De conductor not smoke, surely," he said, showing me his pipe in
one hand. "I always have the matches."
"So do I, as a general thing,". I rejoined. "One never knows when a
match may be wanted in this country." I spoke rather surlily, for I
had been getting dreadfully chilled while the conductor was opening
and shutting the door. The man bent forward eagerly, though without
a trace of rudeness in his manner.
"You do not live here, eh?"
"Oh! yes, I do now, but I was thinking of England when I spoke."
|