He sat slumped in the seat, hunched over the wheel, looking to
neither left nor right, his total attention focussed on the fog-blurred
ribbon of road immediately ahead. Martha wished there were some other passengers on the bus. The driver
was no company at all and the smothering fog outside made everything
seem so desolate. The interior of the bus itself looked dingy and
soiled, as if it hadn't been swept out or polished for months on end. Frowning toward the window, Martha realized that she would never be
able to tell when they were approaching her destination, Barley Street. The fog had become an impenetrable blanket, swirling close on all sides. "Driver," Martha called out, "will you please stop at Barley Street?" He didn't answer, didn't turn, didn't so much as nod his head. He
stared forward into the fog and Martha imagined that he hadn't even
heard her. But of course he must have. It was simply that the fog made driving
hazardous and his entire attention was concentrated on the street ahead. Trying to stifle her irritation, Martha leaned her head back against
the seat and attempted to relax. But the top of the seat was hard and
cold and she soon sat up straight again. She suddenly realized that she was shivering. What a bore! She must be
catching cold! But the bus _did_ seem frigid. She could scarcely keep
her teeth from chattering. And now a new vexation caught her attention. In spite of the almost
opaque wall of fog, the bus driver was steadily increasing the speed of
his vehicle. The bus careened along at a constantly accelerated rate,
bumping and lurching and swaying from side to side. Martha felt a funny little knot of fear and apprehension begin to
tighten in her breast. For a block or two she held tight to her seat,
stifling an urge to shout at the driver, but finally she could stand it
no longer. "Driver," she called out in a strained voice which didn't sound at all
like her own, "you're going much too fast! Won't you please slow down?" As if in response, and without paying her any other heed, the driver
managed a new and positively fearful burst of speed. The bus thundered
ahead until the fog seemed to be going by in white streamers of light. Fighting back rising hysteria, Martha stood up. "Driver! Please! We'll
be killed!" For the first time the driver turned. In the poor light, his face under
the visor of his driver's cap looked as blurred and white as the fog
outside. "We're late on the run! We'll never make it!" He turned back to the wheel. Martha felt deadly fear coil up within
her. The man was either drunk or mad and she sensed at once that any
further attempt to reason with him would be futile. Clutching the seat handles, she began stumbling toward the front
of the bus. At least she would be near the door, she decided,
when--if--something happened. Once a sudden lurch of the bus almost threw her off her feet. Clutching
the back of a seat, she regained her balance and staggered ahead. She could no longer force back the panic which was welling within her. She felt--she _knew_--that her life was in imminent and deadly danger. And when she finally reached the front of the bus and stared ahead into
the fog, it was impossible to retain any lingering doubts about the
lethal jeopardy of her position. The vehicle's single headlight had gone out. The bus was racing through
the midnight fog in total darkness! With a scream, Martha turned toward the driver. He sat with a fixed
stare, grimly intent, entirely oblivious to everything except the white
wall of fog looming up immediately ahead. With the scream still on her lips, Martha whirled toward the door. It
opened. Or perhaps it had been open. She was too terrified to know. But
in any case there was the cold white fog streaming past outside. She hesitated momentarily. It took courage to hurl yourself into that
rushing white wall, never knowing exactly what lay beyond it, beneath
it--within it. But some sure instinct warned her that there was no choice. This
fearful icy bus racing ahead into the foggy darkness without any lights
could come to only one end. With another wild scream she plunged through the open door into the
streamers of fog. For a second she was snatched through space in the wake of the midnight
bus. Then she struck earth with a thud which seemed to loosen every
bone in her body and went bouncing and rolling along the ground like a
rag doll hurled aside by an angry child. She came to rest against a hedge and lay motionless, the taste of wet
moldy earth in her mouth. She was still lying there, wondering how many
bones she had broken, when a rending crash sounded somewhere ahead in
the foggy darkness. She heard the tinkle of falling splinters of glass
and then there was silence. Sudden, terrifying silence. The silence endured, pregnant and somehow horrifying, and she wanted
to scream again, but her mouth was full of dirt and screaming was
difficult. A light appeared; someone shouted; and she managed a groan. A face materialized out of the fog, a kindly, anxious face. The man bent over her. He spoke soothingly for a moment; he
straightened up and called into the fog. "It's a girl, Alica! She's
hurt! Bring a blanket! Quickly!" In less than a minute a sturdy woman appeared. The two of them, the man
and the woman, slid the blanket under Martha and lifted her up. In another minute she was carried out of the fog into a cozy lighted
house and tenderly laid on a couch. While the man telephoned for a doctor, the woman Alica asked Martha
where she was hurt the most. Martha wasn't sure. She hurt all over, but not in any special place. The woman brought a wet cloth, a glass and a pitcher of water. After
Martha had rinsed out her mouth, the woman gently washed her face. The man came into the room. "The doctor's coming right over! Now don't
you worry!" Martha sat up and carefully moved her legs. They felt bruised but
assuredly not broken. And she could move her arms without any
concentrated pain. The man nodded. "Good! No bones broken, by the looks. You were lucky,
child. You struck the turf outside and not the hard cobbles!" The woman peered at her intently. "What happened, dear--if you want to
tell." Martha suddenly remembered that splintering crash which had followed
shortly after her frenzied leap from the speeding bus. "Oh, that poor man!" she said. "Has anybody gone to help him?" They both looked at her. "What man, dear?" the woman asked. "The bus driver," Martha said. "That was such a horrible crash!" They went on looking at her without saying anything. A queer uneasiness
overcame her. "Didn't you--hear it?" she asked. The man shook his head. "We heard you scream. But we didn't hear
any--crash." "But--there was," Martha explained frowning. "The bus I jumped out of
didn't have any lights and it was speeding and--I heard it crash!" They were looking at her strangely now. As if they didn't believe a
word she was saying.