people that I address
in these epistles, that by "dear" I do not necessarily imply any
affection. I employ the word because I am too old to care about breaking
down harmless conventions; but I might claim in the present connection
that it has more than one meaning. That indeed you will see, if you read
on, is the main point of this letter.)--Dear Sir, then, you may remember
me. I am the fare who hailed you on your rank at the corner of Fulham
Road and Drayton Gardens last Tuesday evening at a quarter to six, and
told you to drive to the Marble Arch. You put down the flag and then
jumped off the box to wind up the starter. It failed, and after several
attempts you had to examine the machinery. I suppose that six minutes
were occupied in this way, whether because you are a bad mechanic or a
careless fellow or because the engine is defective, I cannot say; all
I know is that I was in a hurry and that the flag was down, but we were
not moving. If you had not put the flag down I should have got out and
taken another cab; but I felt that that would be unfair to you. When,
however, at the end of the journey I paid you without adding any tip,
and you received the money with an offensive grunt, I wished that I had
been less considerate.

It is because nothing that I could have said then, in your horrid
hostile mood, would have convinced you that there is any injustice to a
fare at all in putting down your flag before you are properly started,
that I am writing this letter. My hope is that quiet perusal may
demonstrate that the fare has, at any rate, a grain of logic on his side
if he looks upon himself as defrauded. We don't, you know, take your
cabs for the joy of sitting in them, or for the pleasure of watching you
struggling with a crank, but to be conveyed quickly from place to place.
It is wrong to ask us to pay for the time spent by you in persuading
your engine to behave, and it is indecent to become abusive when we act
on that assumption. If I had not been so busy I should have refused to
pay at all and forced you to summon me; but who has time for such costly
formalities? And I might have had to lose my temper, which I have not
done (much) since I read an article by a doctor saying that every such
loss means an abbreviation of life. Life in a world made fit for heroes
may not be any great catch, but it is better, at any rate, than
passing to a region where one is apparently liable to be in constant
communication with me