The Argosy — page 42: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

32 Letters from Majorca. round the waist with a red scarf, an open waistcoat and a broad- brimmed hat with tassels. A picturesque dress if new and fresh and worn gracefully. But a general untidiness and antiquity dis- tinguished this motley crowd, and slovenliness in man or woman is a cardinal sin. At the booking-office, a couple of soldiers or gensdarmes, with guns, kept order, after the custom of most Continental places. Here it seemed not unnecessary. The people swarmed for their tickets, and we, who could not swarm, were glad to accept the driver's offer to get ours. He looked after the luggage, was very attentive, and saw us comfortably settled in our compartment. The train rolled off through the plains of Palma, and we soon entered upon new scenes. Everything new is or ought to be more or less instructive. The slow journey was yet further drawn-out by lengthened stoppages. This we rather enjoyed. We were in no hurry, and gained a little insight into the ways and looks of the people. Some of the small towns or villages, nestling amidst the hills or sleeping in the plains, were very picturesque. This was especially true of Inca, a small town which has a market every Thursday, where very much of the grain and produce of the country is bought and sold. At last came Manacor: the largest town in the island next to Palma, but many degrees below Palma in civilisation. The very hotel omnibus, to begin with, led to modest calculations as to what lay before us. It was the most ramshackle old vehicle ever seen, At first we thought we had made a mistake, but as no- thing better was visible we kept our seats. Or, rather, we kept to the interior: to keep our seats was another and a harder matter. The driver mounted to his perch in front and gave three or four vigorous thumps at the vehicle as a warning that he was off. Just the same sort of thumps that one has experienced over and over again in the French bathing-machines, when the horse goes off at a trot over the sands, and the next moment you find yourself lying upon the floor, your head bruised by coming into contact with the door, and an uncomfortable feeling of sea-sickness taking possession of you. The warning at Manacor was quite as necessary. We were no sooner off than H. C., myself and the traps all found ourselves in a heap at the bottom. We shouted to the man to stop, but he, think- ing us impatient, urged his fiery steed to greater exertions. Such action in a horse was never before seen—or felt. He must have come straight from the wild prairies of the “ far west.” The machine swayed to and fro, threatened to overturn. We took our lives into our hands: our wills we had already made, you will re- member, on the occasion of first tasting butter in Palma and mistaking it for poison. We trembled for ourselves, our camera and our dry plates. As for comicbooks.com