Ragtime - E.L. Doctorow [60]
At this time private volunteer companies were maintained as auxiliaries to the municipal fire department; and these companies, which relied upon private subscription, had yet to motorize their equipment. As the Negro came along a team of three matching gray engine horses cantered out of the firehouse into the road pulling behind them the big steam pumper for which the Emerald Isle was locally renowned. They were immediately reined, causing Coalhouse Walker to brake his car abruptly.
Two of the volunteers came out of the building to join the driver of the pumper who sat up on his box looking at the Negro and yawning ostentatiously. They all wore blue work shirts with green handkerchief ties, dark blue trousers and boots. Coalhouse Walker released the clutch pedal and climbed down to crank his car. The volunteers waited until this was done and then advised him that he was traveling on a private toll road and that he could not drive on without payment of twenty-five dollars or by presenting a pass indicating that he was a resident of the city. This is a public thoroughfare, Walker said, I’ve traveled it dozens of times and no one has ever said anything about a toll. He got up behind the wheel. Tell the Chief, one of the men said to another. Walker decided to put the Ford into reverse gear, back up to the corner and go another way. He turned in his seat. At this moment two of the firemen carrying a twenty-foot ladder between them came into the street behind the car. Two others followed with another ladder and others came out with carts of coiled hose, buckets, axes, hooks and other fire-fighting equipment, all of which was deposited in the street, the company having chosen this particular moment to sweep out its quarters.
The Chief of the company was distinguished by a white military cap he wore at a cocky angle. He was also somewhat older than the rest. He was courteous to Coalhouse and explained that while the toll had never before been collected from him it was nevertheless in force, and that if Coalhouse did not pay up he would not pass. With his two hands he lifted his hat from his head and reset it so that the visor covered his eyes. This caused him to tilt his chin upwards in order to see, giving him a pugnacious look. He was a heavyset man with thick arms. Many of the volunteers were grinning. We need the money for a firetruck, the Chief explained. So we can drive to fires just like you drive to whorehouses.
The Negro calmly considered the courses of action available to him. The Emerald Isle firehouse looked across the street to an open field that sloped down to a pond. Conceivably he might drive off the road, turn in the field and circumnavigate the ladders and hose cart. But he was wedged in tightly, and even if he could pull the wheel hard enough to clear the horses the severe angle of the turn might tilt the car over on the downhill slope. Apparently it did not occur to him to ingratiate himself in the fashion of his race.
Playing down at the edge of the pond were a couple of Negro boys, ten or twelve years old. Hey, Coalhouse Walker called to them. Come on up here! The boys came running. They stared at Coalhouse as he switched off the engine, set the brake and stepped down to the road. I want you to watch this car, he told them. When I come back you tell me if