“Duke of Rattleborough, Camperdown Club, London.“A man calling himself Wentworth Parkes presented a letter of introduction from you to me. Please cable whether or not he is reliable.”
“Duke of Rattleborough, Camperdown Club, London.
“A man calling himself Wentworth Parkes presented a letter of introduction from you to me. Please cable whether or not he is reliable.”
Two days later, Stranleigh received a reply—
“Letter a forgery. Parkes was my valet for three years, then bolted, leaving a lot of little things behind him, but not if they were portable and valuable. Believe he is now abroad, though the London police are yearning for him.Rattleborough.”
“Letter a forgery. Parkes was my valet for three years, then bolted, leaving a lot of little things behind him, but not if they were portable and valuable. Believe he is now abroad, though the London police are yearning for him.Rattleborough.”
Now began the persistent pursuit of Stranleigh, which culminated in his sending Ponderby down to the steamship office to buy tickets for England. The young man said nothing to anyone of the cablegram he had received, nor did he inform the police of London the whereabouts of their quarry. He rather pitied the poor wretch, as he called him, but he had no use for a thief and a liar, so he refused to hold further communication with him, or to make any explanation. Parkes, finding he could not gain admission to Stranleigh, took to sending letters by special messenger, first adopting an aggrieved tone, a reproachful suggestion of injured innocence running through his correspondence like a minor note in a piece of music; then he became the victim of an unscrupulous millionaire, asserting that Stranleigh had promised to finance the proposed company,and breathing threats of legal proceedings. Indeed, as the recipient read these later communications, he realised they were evidently written with a view to publicity in law courts, for there emanated from them sentiments of great patriotism. The United States, Stranleigh learned, would not put up with his villainy, as would have been the case with legal proceedings in decadent England, where judges were under the thumb of a debased aristocracy.
Stranleigh had no ambition to appear in the courts of either country, so he removed from one hotel to another, but apparently he was watched, for Parkes ran him down wherever he betook himself. Thus we come to the moment when the sedate but overjoyed Ponderby returned with the steamship tickets, which Stranleigh thrust into his pocket.
“Shall I pack up now, my lord?”
“I wish you would. The valet of the hotel will assist you. Prepare three boxes; one for yourself and two for me, filling mine with such clothing as I should take were I going to visit a friend in thecountry for a week or two. Place the other luggage in charge of the manager of the hotel, and say I will telegraph when I make up my mind where it is to be sent.”
And then, to Ponderby’s amazement, the young man left for Boston, and took passage in the steamer for St. John, New Brunswick.
“You see, Ponderby,” said his lordship, when they got out into the ocean, “the estimable Parkes, if he is watching us, is already aware that you have booked for Southampton. He may possibly set the law in motion, and appear with some emissaries thereof aboard the liner before she sails, so we might be compelled to remain in this country which he so ardently loves.”
“But the steamship tickets, my lord? They cost a lot of money.”
“Quite so, my economical Ponderby, but remember for your consolation that when you step ashore from this boat, you will be under the British flag. You may telegraph to the company and tell them to sell the tickets, meanwhile sending them by postto New York. Here they are. Whatever money the company returns, is to be retained by you further to mitigate your disappointment. I have no doubt that in thus bolting for Canada you feel like a culprit escaping from justice, but we are only escaping from Parkes. Having pestered me as much about Detroit as he has done, that city will be the last place in which he is likely to look for me. We are making for Detroit, Ponderby, by the most roundabout route I could choose, seeing that the Panama Canal is not yet open, and thus I am unable to reach the autometropolis by way of San Francisco.”
After passing through Canada, Lord Stranleigh settled himself very comfortably in a luxurious suite of rooms situated near the top storey of a luxurious hotel in the city of the Straits, under the assumed commonplace name of Henry Johnson. The windows of his apartment afforded wide and interesting views of skyscrapers and noble public edifices, with a wilderness of roofs extending towards the misty horizon to the west, north, and east, while to the south flowed the majestic river, its bluesurface enlivened by stately steamers and picturesque sailing craft.
The gloomy valet did not share his master’s admiration of the scene. Ponderby was heart and soul a Londoner, and although forced to admit that the Thames was grey and muddy, and its shipping for the most part sombre and uncouth, that tidal water remained for him the model of all other streams. He was only partially consoled by the fact that five cents brought him across to the Canadian shore, where he might inhale deep breaths of air that fluttered the Union Jack.
Stranleigh, confident that he had shaken off pursuit, enjoyed himself in a thoroughly democratic manner, sailing up stream and down, on one of the pearl white passenger boats, that carried bands which played the immortal airs of Sousa.
He began his second week in Detroit by engaging a motor to make a tour of the motor manufacturing district. He was amazed at the size and extent of the buildings, and recognised, among the namespainted thereon, the designation of cars that were familiar to him. He had come to believe Parkes such an untruthful person, that he had taken a big discount from everything he said, and so was unprepared to find the reality far in advance of the description. However, he saw no sign bearing the name of the Sterling Motor Company, so asked his chauffeur to convey him thither. The chauffeur, pondering a moment, was forced to admit that he had never heard of the firm.
“Then be so good,” requested Stranleigh, “as to drop into one of these offices and enquire. It is likely that someone will know the names of all other companies in the same line of manufacture.”
“I don’t doubt,” said the chauffeur, “that they know all about it, but it wouldn’t be business to direct a possible customer to a rival firm.”
Stranleigh smiled.
“I have not been in this country so long as you have,” he said, “but I think you will find an American business man ignores rivalry when he has an opportunity of doing an act of courtesy.”
The chauffeur drew up at a huge factory and went inside. Returning very promptly, he informed his fare that they knew of no Sterling Motor Company, but there was in Woodbridge Street a young engineer named J. E. Sterling, who, they believed, made motor-cars.
“J. E. Sterling! That’s the man I want. Where is Woodbridge Street?”
“Right away down town; next door, as you might say, to the river front.”
“Very good; we’ll go there. Just drive past Mr. Sterling’s place, for if I do not like the look of it I shall not go in.”
By and by they turned into Woodward Avenue, and raced down town at a speed which Stranleigh thought must surely exceed the legal limit, if there was one. Woodbridge Street proved to be crowded with great lumbering trucks, loaded with vegetables for the most part, and among these vehicles the chauffeur threaded his way cautiously. They passed a small, rather insignificant shop, above whose window was painted—
“J. E. Sterling.Motor Engineer. Repairspromptly executed. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
When the chauffeur came to a halt a little further on, Stranleigh said—
“The place doesn’t look very inviting, but as Mr. Sterling guarantees satisfaction, I think it but right to call upon him. I sha’n’t need you any more to-day.”
The door being open, Stranleigh walked in unannounced. A two-seated runabout, evidently brand new, stood by the window, where it could be viewed by passers-by. Further down the room rested a chassis, over which two men, one middle-aged and the other probably twenty-five, were bending, with tools in their hands. They were dressed in grease-stained blue overalls, and they looked up as Stranleigh entered.
“I wish to see Mr. J. E. Sterling,” he said.
“My name is Sterling,” replied the younger man, putting down his tools, and coming forward.
“I understood,” went on Stranleigh, “that there was a Sterling Motor Car Company.”
“There will be,” answered the young man confidently, “but that’s in the sweet by and by. It hasn’t materialised so far. What can I do for you?”
“Well, you can give me some information regarding J. E. Sterling. I want to learn if it tallies with what I have heard.”
The young man laughed.
“It depends on who has been talking about me. I daresay you have been told things that might require explanation.”
“I heard nothing but praise,” his lordship assured him. “It was said you were the true successor of Thomas Alva Edison.”
Sterling laughed even more heartily than before.
“I’m afraid they were getting at you. A man may be a creditable inventor, and a good, all-round engineer without being able to hold a candle to Edison. Are you looking for an automobile?”
“No; as I told you at first, I am looking for J. E. Sterling.”
“I was going to say that I am not yet prepared to supply cars. I do repairing and that sort of thing, merely to keep the wolf from the door, and leave me a little surplus to expend in my business. My real work, however, is experimenting, and when I am able to turn out a machine that satisfies me, my next business will be to form a company, for one can’t do anything in this trade without capital.”
“The competition must be intense.”
“It is, but there’s always room for a first-rate article, and the production of a first-rate article is my ambition.”
“Is that your work in the window?”
“Yes.”
“Does it come up to your expectations?”
The young man’s face grew serious; his brow wrinkled almost into a frown, and he remained silent for a few moments.
“Well, I can’t exactly say that it does,” he answered at last, “still, I think the faults I have found can be remedied with a little patience. On the other hand, I fear the improvement I have putin this car may not be as great as I thought when I was working at it.”
Lord Stranleigh looked at the young man with evident approval; his frankness and honesty commended themselves to him.
“Do you mind showing me your improvement and explaining its function?”
“Not at all. You will remember, however, that this exhibition is confidential, for I have not yet patented the mechanism.”
“I shall not mention to anyone what you show me. You asked me a moment ago if I wished to buy an automobile, and I said I did not. I have made a little money in my time, but mostly, it seems to me, by flukes. I do not pretend to be a business man, yet such is the conceit of humanity that I wish to invest some of my money to back my own judgment. If I lose the cash, it won’t cripple me to any appreciable extent. On the other hand, should the investment prove satisfactory, I shall have more faith in my judgment than has hitherto been the case. In any event, I promise to assist you in the formation of your company.”
“That’s all right!” cried the young engineer, with enthusiasm. “My own judgment of men is frequently at fault, but somehow I’d stake my bottom dollar on you. Come over to the window, and I’ll show you how the wheels go round.”
The two men approached the car in the window, and as they did so a third person on the pavement outside stopped suddenly, and regarded them with evident astonishment. Neither of those inside saw him, but if one or the other had looked through the glass, he would have recognised the sinister face of Wentworth Parkes who, having satisfied himself as to the visitor’s identity, turned away and retraced his steps.
Sterling lifted up a leather curtain which hung down in front from the passenger’s seat and disclosed a line of three upright pegs, rising two or three inches from the floor of the car. They were concealed when the curtain was lowered.
“If you give the matter any thought,” said Sterling, “you will discover that the passenger in anautomobile is in rather a helpless position. His chauffeur may faint, or even die at his wheel from heart failure, as has been the case in several instances I know of, or he may be drunk, and therefore unreasonable or obstinate, driving the car with danger to all concerned, yet if his master attempt to displace him while the car is going at high speed, disaster is certain. Now, the centre peg here will stop the engine and put on the brakes. A pressure by the foot on the right-hand peg turns the car to the right; and on the left-hand to the left. In the ordinary car the passenger can do nothing to save himself, but here he may stop the car dead, or, if he prefers it, may disconnect the steering wheel, and guide the car at his will.”
“Why, I think that’s an excellent device!” cried Stranleigh.
“I thought so, too, but there are disadvantages. The crises in which it could be brought to play are rare. As a general rule, a chauffeur is much more to be trusted than the owner, and if the owner happens to be anervous man, he might interfere, with deplorable results.”
“Yes,” said Stranleigh, “it’s like the pistol in Texas. You may not need it, but when you do you want it very badly. Has anyone else seen this contrivance?”
“No one except my assistant.”
“Could you lend me this car to-morrow?”
“Certainly.”
“Then place the car in charge of a competent chauffeur, who knows nothing of your safety device, and send it up to my hotel at eleven o’clock. Tell him to ask for Henry Johnson. I’ll take a little trip into the country, where I can test the car on some unfrequented road.”
“Better cross the river to Canada,” said Sterling, with a smile. “Things are quiet over there.”
“Very well,” agreed Stranleigh. “You are a busy man, and I have taken up a considerable amount of your time. You must allow me to pay you for it.”
The young man’s face grew red underneath its spots of grease, and he drew back a step.
“You have spent your own time to an equal amount, so we’ll allow one expenditure to balance the other.”
“My time is of no account. I’m a loafer.”
“I could not accept any money, sir.”
The two looked at one another for a moment, and gentlemen understand each other even though one wears the greasy clothes of a mechanic.
“I beg your pardon,” said Stranleigh, softly. “Now, let me ask you one question. Have you given an option on this business to anyone?”
Sterling glanced up in surprise.
“Why, yes, I did give an option to an Englishman. By the way, you’re English, are you not?”
“I was born over there.”
“This Englishman wasn’t your sort. He was a most plausible talker, and as I told you, my judgment of men is sometimes at fault. I gave him an option for two months, but I think all he wanted was to get an automobile for nothing. He said herepresented a syndicate of English capitalists, some of whom were in New York, and he borrowed the only car I had completed at that time. That was four months ago. Like the preacher after the futile collection, I wanted to get back my hat at least, but although I wrote letter after letter, I never received any answer. It wasn’t worth my while to set the police on his track, so I tried to forget him, and succeeded until you spoke of an option just now.”
“That agreement lapsed two months ago?”
“Yes.”
“Then write out an option for me, good for a week. I’ll pay you five hundred dollars down, to be forfeited if I fail to do what I promise.”
“I’ll give you the document with pleasure, but it is unnecessary to make a deposit.”
“This is business, you know, Mr. Sterling. You are pretending you are as bad a business man as I am. I don’t know much about the law of America, but I think you will find that unless a deposit is made, your instrument would be invalid in a court oflaw. There must be value received, I believe, when a bargain is made.”
“All right,” said Sterling, “but I’ll give you back your money if you regret the deal.”
He went to a desk in the corner, and wrote out the agreement, in which he acknowledged the receipt of five hundred dollars. Stranleigh selected from his wallet five bills for a hundred dollars each, and handed them over, then bidding farewell to the engineer, walked to his hotel, followed at a discreet distance by Mr. Wentworth Parkes.
Having located his quarry, Parkes retraced his steps to Woodbridge Street, deep in thought. His first resolution was to try bluster, but he abandoned that idea for two reasons, each conclusive in its way. His slight acquaintance with the engineer had convinced him that while much could be done with Sterling by persuasion, he would not yield to force, and secondly, the motor builder had no money. Whatever gold he was to acquire in his deal must come from Lord Stranleigh. It was, therefore, a mild and innocent lamb of a man who entered the machine shop of Woodbridge Street.
“Hello!” cried Sterling, who seemed taken aback by the encounter. “What have you done with my automobile, and why did you not answer my letters?”
“Your automobile is here in Detroit; a little the worse for wear, perhaps, but there is nothing wrong with it that you cannot put right in short order. As for letters, I never received any. I thought I had notified you of my changed address.”
“As a matter of fact, you didn’t.”
“In that case, I apologise most humbly. The truth is, Mr. Sterling, I have been working practically night and day, often under very discouraging circumstances. Until quite recently there was nothing hopeful to tell, and the moment I struck a bit of good luck, I came on here in the car to let you know. You see, it was very difficult to interest capital in a proposition that apparently has no substantiality behind it. If you had possessed a big factory in going order, that I could have shown a man over, the company would have been formed long ago. It therefore surprised me exceedingly, when I passedyour shop less than a hour ago, to see standing in this window, while you were explaining the car to him, the man on whom I chiefly depended. You must put it down to my credit that instead of coming in as I had intended, thus embarrassing him, and perhaps spoiling a deal by my interference, I passed on, waited until he came out, and followed him to his hotel.”
Sterling was plainly nonplussed.
“I wish you had come in an hour earlier,” he said. “You couldn’t have interfered with a deal, because your option ran out two months ago.”
“I know that,” said Parkes regretfully, “but I thought the good work on my part would have made up for a legal lapse. Indeed, Mr. Sterling, if you will allow me to say so, I had such supreme faith in your own honesty, that I believed you would not hesitate to renew our arrangement.”
“That’s just the point,” said Sterling. “Had you come in an hour sooner, you would have been in time. As it is, I have granted a new option to the man you saw here with me.”
“What name did he give you? Trevelyan?”
“No; the name he mentioned was Henry Johnson.”
Parkes laughed a little, then checked himself.
“He went under the name of Trevelyan in New York, but I know neither that nor Johnson is his true title. Well, is he going in with you, then?”
“He has asked for a week to decide.”
Now Parkes laughed more heartily.
“I took him out in your motor in New York, and there also he asked for a week in which to decide. He seems to have taken the opportunity to come West, and try to forestall me.”
“Oh, I don’t believe he’s that sort of man,” cried Sterling, impatiently.
“Perhaps I do him an injustice. I sincerely hope so. Of course you’re not compelled to show your hand, but I think, in the circumstances, you might let me know just how far you’ve got.”
“Yes, I think you are entitled to that. I remember I was rather astonished when I learned he knewI had given a former option, but I shall be very much disappointed if he doesn’t run straight. Still, I have been mistaken in men before. He took an option for a week, and paid me five hundred dollars down in cash, to be forfeited if he does not exercise it.”
“Well, if the money is not counterfeit, that certainly looks like running straight. And meanwhile, what are you to do?”
“I am to do nothing, except send this car up to his hotel with a suitable chauffeur, at eleven o’clock to-morrow. He is going to test it along the Canadian roads.”
“Was anything said about the amount of capital he was to put up?”
“Not a word; we didn’t get that far.”
Parkes took a few turns up and down the room then he said suddenly:
“Have you any particular chauffeur in mind?”
“No; I was just going out to make arrangements.”
“You don’t need to make any arrangements. I’ll be your chauffeur, and can show off thiscar better than a stranger, who perhaps might be interested in some other automobile, and try to get your customer away. It’s to my interest, having spent so much time on it, to see the deal put through. Besides, I know your man, and now that I have encountered him here in Detroit, he cannot deny that I sent him to your shop. I think he owes me at least a commission for bringing you together. I realise, of course, that I have no legal claim on either of you, yet I am sure, if the facts were proved, any court would allow me an agent’s commission.”
“I’ll pay your commission,” said Sterling.
“You haven’t got the money, and he has.”
“Very well; I will let you go as chauffeur, but I must inform him who you are.”
Parkes shook his head.
“My dear Sterling, you are the most honest and impractical man I ever met. If you give him warning, he’ll merely leave you in the lurch as he did me.”
“Do you intend to disguise yourself?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then he will recognise you at once.”
“I understand that class of Englishman much better than you do. He will never see me, and I don’t know that I shall call myself to his attention at all. My own idea is to let the deal go through, claiming only the privilege of being your adviser, and keeping altogether in the background. I can give you valuable hints about dealing with this sort of man. He will regard me as a servant, and unless I said to him: ‘Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, why did you bolt so suddenly from New York?’ he would never have the least idea who was sitting beside him, and even then he would exhibit no surprise.”
“Lord Stranleigh?” echoed Sterling in amazement.
“Yes; that’s the man you’re dealing with, and he’s worth untold millions. I’ll go up to this hotel now, and see him, if you prefer that I should do so.”
“No; you may take him out to-morrow, but I advise you to say nothing to him about me or mybusiness. Whatever arrangement we come to finally, you shall be recompensed for your share in the negotiations.”
Parkes’ prediction regarding Stranleigh’s non-recognition of him proved accurate. The young man simply said—
“We will cross the ferry, and run up along the Canadian shore as far as Lake St. Clair.”
The road continued along the river bank, with no fences on the left side. Although residences were fairly numerous, there was little traffic on the highway. The car was running at a moderate pace when the chauffeur suddenly diverted it towards the river, and with an exceedingly narrow margin escaped tumbling down the bank.
“I say,” murmured Stranleigh, “I don’t like that you know.”
“There’s worse to come,” said the chauffeur menacingly. “You will promise to pay me a hundred thousand dollars, or I will dash you and the car over the edge into the river. If you consider your life worth that sum, speak quickly.”
“Ah, it is you, Parkes? I hope you realise that you will dash yourself over at the same time?”
“I know that, but I’m a desperate man. Just get that through your head.”
“You are aware that a promise given under duress is not binding?”
“Stow talk!” roared Parkes. “Say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
“I say ‘No!’” replied Stranleigh, so quietly that the other was unprepared for the prompt action which followed. Stranleigh flung his arms around the man, and jerked him backward from his wheel. His lordship was in good athletic condition; the ex-valet had looked too much on the wine when it was red, and on the highball when it sparkled in the glass. He felt helpless as a child.
“Now,” said Stranleigh, “we will see who is the coward. I’ll lay a wager with you that this car tumbles off the bank before five minutes are past.”
Stranleigh with his heels was working the two outsidepegs, and the car acted as if it were drunker than a lord, and almost as drunk as the valet.
“In God’s name,” cried the latter, “let me go. We shall be wrecked in a moment.”
“No, we won’t.”
“I implore you, Lord Stranleigh!”
“I’ll save your life, but will give you a lesson against attempted blackmail.”
He steered to the edge of the bank, then pressed the middle peg, and stopped the car. Rising and carrying Parkes with him, he hurled him headlong over the slight earthy precipice into the water, which was shallow at that point. Parkes arose spluttering, and found Stranleigh had turned the car round, and with a smile on his face, was looking down at his dripping victim.
“You’ll suffer for this!” cried Parkes, shaking his fist at him. “We’re in a country, thank God, where we think very little of lords.”
“Oh, I don’t think much of lords myself, in any country,” replied Stranleigh suavely, “and even less of their valets, notwithstanding I’ve a very good one myself. Now listen to my advice. I shall be in theUnited States before you can reach a telephone, and I don’t see how you can get me back unless I wish to return. I advise you not to stir up the police. The Duke of Rattleborough cabled to me that a certain section of that useful body is anxious to hear of you. Call on Mr. Sterling, and whatever he thinks is just compensation for your introduction I will pay, but before you get the money, you must ensure both of us against further molestation in any way.”
Stranleigh drove up to the shop on Woodbridge Street, and listened to the account Sterling gave of Parkes’ visit and conversation, and his explanation of how he had come to allow him to drive the car.
“That’s quite all right and satisfactory,” said his lordship. “I never for a moment distrusted you. Still, I did get your name from Parkes, and I owe him something for that. What do you think would be a fair payment to make? I threw him into the river, but though it’s clean, clear water, I expect no reward.”
“If you’ll allow me to pay him the five hundreddollars you gave me yesterday, I think the rogue will get much more than he deserves.”
“Very good; I’ll add another five hundred, but see that he signs some legal promise not to molest us further. I’ll capitalise your company to the extent of any amount between a hundred thousand dollars and half a million.”
Young Lord Stranleigh always proved a disappointment to a thorough-going Radical, for he differed much from the conventional idea of what a hereditary proud peer should be. He was not overbearing on the one hand, nor condescending on the other, being essentially a shy, unassuming person, easily silenced by any controversialist who uttered statements of sufficient emphasis. He never seemed very sure about anything, although undoubtedly he was a judge of well-fitting clothes, and the tailoring of even the remoter parts of America rather pleased him.
One thing that met his somewhat mild disapproval was undue publicity. He shrank from general notice, and tried to efface himself when reportersgot on his track. In order, then, to live the quiet and simple life, his lordship modified a stratagem he had used on a previous occasion with complete success. He arranged that the obedient but unwilling Ponderby should enact the country gentleman of England, bent on enlarging his mind, and rounding out his experiences by residence in the United States. Ponderby wished to get back to the old country, but was too well-trained to say so. Lord Stranleigh, under the humble designation of Henry Johnson, set for himself the part of Ponderby’s chauffeur, arôlehe was well fitted to fill, because of his love for motoring, and his expertness in the art. He dressed the character to perfection, being always particular in the matter of clothes, and was quite admirable in raising his forefinger deferentially to the edge of his cap, a salute whose effect Ponderby endangered by his unfortunate habit of blushing.
Accustomed to self-suppression though he was, Ponderby could not altogether conceal from Lord Stranleigh his dislike of the metamorphosis that was proposed. He had been born a servant and broughtup a servant, with the result that he was a capable one, and posing as a gentleman was little to his taste. Of course, he would do anything Lord Stranleigh commanded, and that without consciously hinting disapproval, but the earl shrank from giving a command as much as he would have disliked receiving one. He was suave enough with the general public, but just a little more so in dealing with those who depended on him.
“Did you ever visit the ancient village of Burford, Ponderby?” he asked on this occasion.
“Burford in England, my lord?”
“Ponderby,” pleaded Stranleigh, “kindly oblige me by omitting the appellation.”
“Burford in England, sir?”
“That’s better,” said the earl with a smile, “but we will omit the ‘sir’ in future, also. I am a chauffeur, you know. Yes, I do mean Burford in Oxfordshire, nestling cosily beside the brown river Windrush, a village of very ancient houses.”
“I have never been there.” Ponderby swallowed the phrase “my lord” just in time.
“Then you have not seen the priory of that place; the ruins of a beautiful old English manor-house? It forms the background of a well-known modern picture by Waller—‘The Empty Saddle.’ The estate was purchased by Lenthall, Speaker of the House of Commons during the Long Parliament. Kings have put up at the Priory, the last being William the Third. Think of that, Ponderby! Royalty! I know how you will respect the house on that account. One of Lenthall’s descendants was served by an ideal butler, who was happy, contented, well-paid; therefore, to all outward appearances, satisfied. One day he fell heir to three thousand pounds, which at present would be not quite fifteen thousand dollars, but at that time was a good deal more. Against his master’s protests, he resigned his butlership.
“‘I have always wished to live,’ he confessed, ‘at the rate of three thousand a year; to live as a gentleman for that period. I will return to you a year from to-day, and if you wish to engage me, I shall be happy to re-enter your service.’
“He spent his long-coveted year and the three thousand pounds, returning and taking up his old service again on the date he had set. Now, Ponderby, there’s a precedent for you, and I know how you love precedents. Remembering this historical fact, I have placed in the bank of Altonville fifteen thousand dollars to your credit. You cannot return to old England just yet, but you may enjoy New England. Already constituting myself your servant, I have taken a furnished house for you, and all I ask in return is that I may officiate as your chauffeur. I hope to make some interesting experiments with the modern American automobile.”
And so it was arranged. Lord Stranleigh at the wheel saw much of a charming country; sometimes with Ponderby in the back seat, but more often without him, for the inestimable valet was quite evidently ill-at-ease through this change of their relative positions.
One balmy, beautiful day during the exceptionally mild Indian summer of that year, Stranleigh left Altonville alone in his motor, and turned into a road that led northward, ultimately reaching themountains to be seen dimly in the autumn haze far to the north. It was a favourite drive of his, for it led along the uplands within sight of a group of crystal lakes with well-wooded banks on the opposite shore. The district was practically untouched by commerce, save that here and there along the valley stood substantial mills, originally built to take advantage of the water power from the brawling river connecting the lakes. Some of these factories had been abandoned, and were slowly becoming as picturesque as an old European castle. Others were still in going order, and doubtless the valley had once been prosperous, but lagging behind an age of tremendous progress, had lost step, as it were, with the procession. Lack of adequate railway connection with the outside world was the alleged cause, but the conservatism of the mill-owners, who, in an age of combination, had struggled on individually to uphold the gospel of letting well alone, a campaign that resulted in their being left alone, had probably more to do with bringing about adversity than the absence of railways. Some of the mills had been purchased by the Trusts,and closed up. One or two still struggled on, hopelessly battling for individualism and independence, everyone but themselves recognising that the result was a foregone conclusion.
Yet for a man who wished to rest, and desired, like the old-fashioned millers, to be left alone, this countryside was indeed charming. The summer visitors had all departed, missing the sublimest time of the year. Stranleigh had the road to himself, and there was no annoying speed limit to hamper the energy of his machine. Without any thought of his disconsolate valet moping about an unnecessarily large and well-furnished house, the selfish young man breathed the exhilarating air, and revelled in his freedom.
He passed a young couple, evidently lovers, standing on a grassy knoll, gazing across a blue lake at the wooded banks on the other side, seemingly at a fine old colonial mansion which stood in an opening of the woods, with well-kept grounds sloping down to the water’s edge.
A man driving a car enjoys small opportunity foradmiring scenery and architecture, so Stranleigh paid little regard to the view, but caught a fleeting glimpse of a beautiful girl, in whose expression there appeared a tinge of sadness which enhanced her loveliness; then he was past, with the empty road before him. He fell into a reverie, a most dangerous state of mind for a chauffeur, since a fall into a reverie on the part of a driver may mean a fall into a ravine on the part of the machine. The reverie, however, was interrupted by a shout, and then by another. He slowed down, and looking back over his shoulder saw that the young man was sprinting towards him at a record-breaking speed. Stranleigh declutched his automobile, and applying the brakes came to a standstill. The young man ran up breathlessly.
“You are the chauffeur of that Englishman in Altonville, are you not?” he panted, breathing hard.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to meet him, or anything of that sort?”
“No; I’m out for my own pleasure.”
“I’ll give you a dollar if you take my wife and me back to Altonville.”
Stranleigh smiled.
“I’ll go, my chief; I’m ready,” he murmured. “It is not for your silver bright, but for your winsome lady.”
“My wife has sprained her ankle, and cannot walk,” explained the young man.
“I am sorry to hear that,” replied Lord Stranleigh. “Get in, and we will go back to her in a jiffy.”
The young man sprang into the car, which the amateur chauffeur turned very deftly, and in a few moments they drew up close to the grassy bank where the girl was sitting. The young husband very tenderly lifted her to the back seat, and the polite chauffeur, after again expressing his regret at the accident, drove the car swiftly to Altonville, stopping at the office of the only doctor.
The young man rang the bell, and before the door was opened, he had carried the girl up the steps. Presently he returned, and found Stranleigh stillsitting in the chauffeur’s seat, meditatively contemplating the trafficless street. His late passenger thrust hand in pocket, and drew forth a silver dollar.
“I am ever so much obliged,” he said, “and am sorry to have detained you so long.”
“The detention was nothing. To be of assistance, however slight, is a pleasure, marred only by the fact of the lady’s misadventure. I hope to hear that her injury is not serious, and then I shall be well repaid.”
“You will not be repaid,” returned the young man, with a slight frown on his brow, “until you have accepted this dollar.”
Stranleigh laughed gently.
“I told you at the beginning that I was not working for coin.”
The young man came closer to the automobile.
“To tell the truth,” he said earnestly, “I fear that now we are in Altonville that pompous gentleman, your boss, may come along, and you will get into trouble. Masters do not like their motors used for other people’s convenience.”
“Don’t worry about Mr. Ponderby. He is a very good-hearted person, and his pomposity merely a mannerism. I am waiting to take madame and yourself to your residence.”
“It isn’t much of a residence,” laughed the young man rather grimly, “only a couple of rooms and a small kitchen, and is less than a hundred yards from this spot.”
“Then I’ll take you that hundred yards.”
“I work in Fulmer’s grist mill,” explained the husband, “and business is not very good, so I had the day off. This is a time of year when we ought to be busy, but the trade is merely local. The huge concerns down east, and further west, do practically all the grinding nowadays.”
The door opened, and the doctor appeared at the top of the steps.
“It’s all right, Mr. Challis,” he said encouragingly. “Mrs. Challis must stay indoors for a few days, and be careful to rest her foot. The cure may be tedious, but not painful, thanks to prompt treatment.”
Challis brought out his wife, and Stranleigh took them to the two-storied frame house, of which they occupied part. When the young man came out to thank the chauffeur, he found the street empty.
A week later, Stranleigh’s passengers heard the purr of an automobile outside the cottage. Challis opened the door in response to the chauffeur’s knock.
“Good morning,” said Stranleigh, shaking hands cheerfully. “What a lovely day! I am delighted to know that Mrs. Challis has completely recovered. I did not care to trouble you with repeated calls, but the doctor has been very kind, and has kept me informed of her progress. It is with his permission that I come to offer you a spin in the car. I’ll take you anywhere you wish to go, and this invitation is extended with the concurrence of Mr. Ponderby, so you may enjoy the run to the full. My name’s Johnson; not Jack, the celebrated, but Henry, the unknown.”
Challis laughed.
“I’m delighted to meet you again,” he said.“Come in and see my wife. Her worry has been that she has never had the opportunity to thank you for your former kindness. Yes; I shall be glad of a ride. I have been too much in the house lately.”
“Another day off, eh?”
“All days are off days now,” growled Challis. “The grist mill has shut down.”
Mrs. Challis received the alleged Johnson with a graciousness that was quite charming. She thanked him in a manner so winning that Stranleigh sat there overcome with an attack of the shyness he had never been able to shake off. He could not help noticing the subtle melancholy of her beautiful face, a hint of which he had received in that brief first glance as he passed in the automobile. He attributed it then to her mishap, but now realised its cause was something deeper and more permanent. He was astonished later to find her so resolute in refusing his invitation. She wished her husband to go for a drive, but would not avail herself of that pleasure. In vain Stranleigh urged the doctor’s dictum that it would be good for her especially as the daywas so fine, and she had endured a week of enforced idleness indoors.
“Some other day perhaps,” she said, “but not now,” and he speedily recognised that her firmness was not to be shaken.
All her own powers of persuasiveness, however were turned upon her husband.
“You must go, Jim,” she insisted. “I have kept you a prisoner for a week, and you need the fresh air much more than I do.”
James Challis, protesting more and more faintly at last gave way, and the two men drove off together while Mrs. Challis fluttered a handkerchief from her window in adieu.
Challis had refused to sit in the back seat, and took his place beside the chauffeur.
“Where shall we go?” asked the latter.
“Drive to the place where you found us,” said his passenger, and there they went. On the way thither, neither spoke, but at a sign from Challis, Stranleigh stopped the car.
“You must not think,” began the former, “that my wife did not wish to come. I know from theexpression of her eyes that she did. Her reason for declining was one that I imagine any woman would consider adequate, and any man the reverse.”
“I am an exception so far as the men are concerned,” said Stranleigh, coming much nearer the truth than he suspected, “for I am sure that whatever motive actuated Mrs. Challis, it was commendable and right.”
“Thank you,” responded the other. “I am with you there. It is all a matter of clothes. My wife possesses no costume suitable for a motor excursion.”
“In that case,” cried Stranleigh impulsively, “the defect is easily remedied. I have saved a bit from the ample salary Mr. Ponderby allows me, and if I may offer you——”
“I could not accept anything,” interrupted Challis.
“Merely a temporary loan, until the grist mill begins operations.”
Challis shook his head.
“That mill will never grind again with the waterthat is past, nor the water that is to come. Fulmer has gone smash, and I could not accept a loan that I do not see my way to repay. Nevertheless, I appreciate fully the kindness of your offer, and if you don’t mind, I will tell you how I got myself entangled, for there is no use in concealing from you what you must already have seen—that I am desperately poor, so much so that I sometimes lose courage, and consider myself a failure, which is not a pleasant state of mind to get into.”
“Oh, I’ve often felt that way myself,” said Stranleigh, “but nobody’s a failure unless he thinks he is. You strike me as a capable man. You have youth and energy, and added to that, great good luck. I’m a believer in luck myself.”
This commendation did not chase the gloom from the face of Challis.
“You have knocked from under me,” he said, “the one frail prop on which I leaned. I have been excusing myself by blaming the run of horrid bad luck I have encountered.”
Stranleigh shook his head.
“You can’t truthfully say that,” he rejoined quietly, “while you have had the supreme good fortune to enlist the affection of so clever and charming a wife.”
The gloom disappeared from Challis’s countenance as the shadow of a cloud at that moment flitted from the surface of the lake. He thrust forth his hand, and there being no onlookers, Stranleigh grasped it.
“Shake!” cried Challis. “I’ll never say ‘ill-luck’ again! I wish she had come with us.”
“So do I,” agreed Stranleigh.
“I’d like her to have heard you talk.”
“Oh, not for that reason. I’d like her to enjoy this scenery.”
“Yes, and the deuce of it is, she practically owns the scene. Look at that house across the lake.”
“A mansion, I should call it.”
“A mansion it is. That’s where my wife came from. Think of my selfishness in taking her fromsuch a home to wretched rooms in a cottage, and abject poverty.”
“I prefer not to think of your selfishness, but rather of her nobility in going. It revives in a cynical man like myself his former belief in the genuine goodness of the world.”
“It all came about in this way,” continued Challis. “I graduated at a technical college—engineering. I began work at the bottom of the ladder, and started in to do my best, being ambitious. This was appreciated, and I got on.”
“In what line?” asked Stranleigh.
“In a line which at that time was somewhat experimental. The firm for which I worked might be called a mechanical-medical association, or perhaps ‘surgical’ would be a better term. We had no plant, no factory; nothing but offices. We were advisers. I was sent here and there all over the country, to mills that were not in a good state of health; dividends falling off, business declining, competition too severe, and what-not. I looked over the works, talked with managers and men, formed conclusions, then sent a report to my firmcontaining details, and such suggestions as I had to offer. My firm communicated with the proprietor of the works accordingly, and collected its bill.”
“That should be an interesting occupation,” said Stranleigh, whose attention was enlisted.
“It was. One day, I was sent up here to inspect the factory of Stanmore Anson, a large stone structure which you could see from here were it not concealed by that hill to the right. It has been in the Anson family for three generations, and had earned a lot of money in its time, but is now as old-fashioned as Noah’s Ark. It was cruelly wasteful of human energy and mechanical power. It should have had a set of turbines, instead of the ancient, moss-grown, overshot waterwheels. The machinery was out of date, and ill-placed. The material in course of manufacture had to go upstairs and downstairs, all over the building, handled and re-handled, backward and forward, instead of passing straight through the factory, entering as raw material, and coming out the finished product. I reported tomy firm that the establishment needed a complete overhauling; that it ought to have new machinery, but that if it was compulsory to keep the old machines at work, they should be entirely rearranged in accordance with the sketch I submitted, so that unnecessary handling of the product might be avoided. I set down the minimum expense that must be incurred, and also submitted an estimate covering the cost of turbines and new machinery, which I admit was large in the bulk, but really the most economical thing to do.”
“I see. And the old man objected to the expense, or perhaps had not the necessary capital to carry out your suggestion? What sort of a person is he? Unreasonable, I suppose you consider him?”
“Strangely enough, I never met him in my life.”
“And you married his daughter?”
“Had to. I was determined to take the girl away, whether I reformed the factory or not, and here you see where good luck and the reverse mingled. When I arrived at Mr. Anson’s factory, the old manwas in New York, for the purpose, as I learned, of raising a loan, or of selling the property, neither of which projects was he able to carry out.”
“That was his misfortune, rather than his fault, wasn’t it?”
“In a way, yes; still, the Trust had offered him a reasonable figure for his factory. He not only refused, but he fought the Trust tooth and nail, thinking that with low taxation, and country wages, he could meet the competition, which, of course, with the factory in its present state, he could not do. The fact that he was up against the Trust became well known, so that he could neither borrow nor sell. While in New York, he called several times on Langdon, Bliss, and Co., the firm that employed me. When my report came in and was read to him, I understand he fell into a tremendous rage, and characterised our company as a body of swindlers. Mr. Langdon ordered him out of the office.
“That was the first spoke in my wheel. Mr. Langdon was a capable man, always courteous andvery calm when dealing with his fellows, so I am sure that my father-in-law must have been exceedingly violent when he provoked Langdon to vocal wrath. I judge that Langdon, when he recovered from his outbreak, regretted it extremely, and was inclined to blame me for rather muddling the affair of Anson’s mill. I may say that I had been placed in rather a difficult position. The proprietor was absent, and had not taken his foreman into his confidence, therefore this foreman put difficulties in the way of investigation. The employees were suspicious, not knowing what this research by a stranger meant, so I went to Anson’s house, hoping to find there someone with sufficient authority to enable me to get the information I must have.
“I met Mrs. Anson, a kindly woman, but realised in a moment that no authority had been delegated to her. She appeared afraid to suggest anything, but called in her only daughter to assist at our conference. The girl at once said she would accompany me to the mill, and did so. I shall never forget with what infinite tact and persuasiveness shewon over the foreman, and it was quite evident that the workmen all knew and liked her, for her very presence appeared to dissipate distrust. I saw Miss Anson home, and it seemed, as my investigations progressed, many conferences became more and more necessary. You’re a young man, and doubtless you know how it is yourself.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” interjected Stranleigh, “but I can guess.”
“Well—your guess is right. We had no difficulty with Mrs. Anson, but both mother and daughter were uneasy about how the father would take it. I wrote him what I hoped was a straightforward letter, putting the case to him as man to man. He answered with a very brief and terse letter that left me no doubt regarding his opinion, but my own communication had arrived at an unfortunate time; the day after he had been ordered out of our office. He at once enclosed my letter to Mr. Langdon, saying in effect:—
“‘This is the sort of man you sent like a wolf in sheep’s clothing to my home.’”
“Langdon telegraphed, asking if this was true. I, of course, had to admit it was, with the result of instant dismissal. I never would have let either mother or daughter know about this, but my reticence was vain, for Mr. Anson wrote a stinging letter to his daughter saying she could do what she pleased about marrying me, but that he had secured my dismissal. It is strange,” Challis murmured reflectively, speaking more to himself than to his companion, “it is strange that a father rarely recognises that when he comes to a difference with one of his children, he is meeting, in part at least, some of his own characteristics. I wonder if I shall ever be so unreasonable as——”
Stranleigh’s eye twinkled as he remembered how firm the girl had been in refusing the automobile invitation, yet giving no explanation of that refusal.
“What Gertrude said to me was, holding her head very proudly: ‘I have received my father’s permission to marry you, and if you are ready for an immediate ceremony, I am willing.’
“We were married before the old man returned from New York.”
“Has there been no further communication between Mr. Anson and yourself?”
“On my part, yes; ignored by him. It was Gertrude who wished to stay in Altonville. She knew a financial crisis was threatening her father, and she hoped that in some way I should be able to advise him. That was not to be. She requested permission to take away her belongings. This was refused. Everything she possessed, Mr. Anson said, had been purchased with his money. They remained at his home, and she was welcome to use them at his house, any time she chose to return, but having exchanged his care for that of another man, it was the other man’s duty to provide what she needed. This ended our communication, and brings us to the present moment.”
“Can you drive a car?” asked Stranleigh.
“Yes.”
“The immediate question strikes me as being that of wearing apparel. I propose to return with at least a box full. I don’t like to be baffled, and I wish Mrs. Challis to come out with us for a run. Will youexchange seats, and drive me down to the mill?”
“You’re up against a tough proposition,” demurred Challis.
“A proposition usually gives way if you approach it tactfully, as Miss Anson approached the manager. If you have never seen her father, he will not recognise you, so let us call at the mill.”
“He would not recognise me, but the foreman would, also many of the men.”
“We must chance that.”
The two young men exchanged seats, and Challis at the wheel, with more caution than ever Stranleigh used, sent the car spinning down the slightly descending road by the margin of the lake, until they came to the water level. No word was spoken between them, but his lordship studied with keen scrutiny from the corner of his eye, the profile of the intent driver. He was immensely taken with the young man, and meditated on the story to which he had listened. The effect left on his mind by that recital surprised him. It was a feeling of sympathy with the old man who had acted so obstreperously, and gradually heplaced this feeling to the credit of Challis, who had shown no rancour against his father-in-law, either in word or tone. Yes; he liked Challis, and was sorry for the elderly Anson, one evidently advanced in years, battling against forces that were too much for him, stubbornly using antiquated methods in a world that had out-grown them; the muzzle-loader against the repeating rifle. These two men should be pulling together.
“There’s the factory,” said Challis, at last, and Stranleigh, looking up, beheld further down the valley a three-storied structure, unexpectedly huge, built apparently for all the ages. There was no sign of activity about it; but the roar of waters came to their ears; idle waters, nevertheless, that were turning no wheels, the muffled sound of an unimpeded minor cataract.
“By Jove!” cried Stranleigh, jumping out as the car stopped.
Challis said nothing, but an expression of deep anxiety darkened his countenance. There were plastered here and there on the stone walls great white posters, bearing printing like the headingsof a sensational newspaper, magnified several hundred times.