The Annoying Travel
Companion
Since
there was now no reason for me to stay at Hanford, I thought it best that I
leave old memories behind and start anew. I thought of traveling to London, or
perhaps Bath, to seek my fortune away from my friends and relatives. In the
end, however, after much consideration, I decided to go to Baxley, for I knew
of a man whose needs for his new business might require my services. Perhaps it
would suit as a good source of income, and I could meet new people and make new
friends. Truly, it was the change of scenery I needed the most.
I
decided to board the train at Wexford, which I knew to be a less populated
train station, and less likely to have a whole lot of conversation, which was
not very pleasant if a person wanted to sleep. Upon boarding the train I was
seated across from a young lady, perhaps not much younger than myself, who
immediately took to conversation, dashing all hopes of catching a nap after my
emotional interlude earlier in the afternoon.
“Hello,
sir-lovely afternoon, isn’t it? I looked out the window and had to admit- that
it was, in fact, a lovely afternoon. Weather-wise.
“Yes it
is,” I replied shortly and proceeded to read the newspaper I just picked up
from under the seat.
“You
say that it is a lovely afternoon, yet your countenance betrays you. You do not
think it lovely at all!” said the girl emphatically. Her curls had begun to
bounce rather rapidly as the train sped along. Some people were staring at us. I put down my newspaper.
“I
merely agreed with you, madam.” As she opened her mouth to reply, I picked back
up my newspaper. I had no idea what I was reading, nor did I care. I could only
hope it would persuade her to stop talking. I lowered myself in the chair, thus
bringing the newspaper higher above my face.
“I say,
why are you so dull? It is a wonderful day- and what are you reading, that you seem so intent on?” I groaned inwardly
and decided that ignoring the young lady might be the best plan of action. As I
stared more intently at the newspaper, I began to see patterns in the spaces
between the letters. Before I could put it down to ease my headache, I felt it
snatched from me. Astonished and startled, I looked at the girl, who was now
inspecting the paper.
“Have
the goodness to give me back my paper, lady.”
“I
cannot believe you are reading this. Such garbage! You support these shameful
and inhumane practices?” Obviously I had no idea what she was talking about, as
I had not actually read the newspaper at all. I decided to act as though I did,
and hence discover what it was that I supposedly “read”.
“What
are you accusing me of so ardently?” I demanded. “Have I not the right to read
what I please?”
“Yes,
sir, but to read positive essays about the seeming enslaving of young children
in our factories is an abomination. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“On the
contrary, I do not support those ideas, nor do I put them into practice. I
merely have an interest in literature in general.” I reached out my hand and
motioned for her to give me the paper, which, in turn, she ripped in half and
placed beside her on her seat.
“I do
not believe you. I think you an arrogant, impolite fool, and am ashamed to have
made your acquaintance.” Suddenly this whole thing seemed rather humorous.
“But
you haven’t,” I replied, extending my right hand. “My name is Vince Warden.
What’s yours?”
