I had seen too
much of the under side of life not to understand the probable meaning of
this new and horrible thing. I remembered how insulted my mother was
that time so long ago when Rucker proposed that they join the
Free-Lovers at Oneida; and how she had refused to ride home with him, at
first, and had walked back on that trail through the woods, leading me
by the hand, until she was exhausted, and how Rucker had tantalized her
by driving by us, and sneering at us when mother and I finally climbed
into the democrat wagon, and rode on with him toward Tempe. I could
partly see, after I had thought over it for a day or so, just what this
new torture might mean to her.
I was about to start on foot for Madison, and looked up my stage-driver
acquaintance to ask him about the road.
"Why don't you go on the railroad?" he asked. "The damned thing has put
me out of business, and I'm no friend of it; but if you're in a hurry
it's quicker'n walkin'."
I had seen the railway station in Milwaukee, and looked at the train;
but it had never occurred to me that I might ride on it to Madison. Now
we always expect a railway to run wherever we want to go; but then it
was the exception--and the only railroad running out of Milwaukee was
from there to Madison. On this I took that day my first ride in a
railway car, reaching Madison some time after three. This seemed like
flying to me. I had seen plenty of railway tracks and trains in New
York; but I had to come to Wisconsin to patronize one.
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