CHAPTER X
IN THE AUTOMOBILE
George Clayton did not broach the subject of his trip that afternoon. Colonel Ellison was still decidedly out of sorts, and George knew from experience how he should be approached.
But the boy had been too long pampered and indulged to make him regard the prospect with any trepidation. The Colonel might object—he often did that, but only to capitulate in the end in the face of his ward’s importunities—and the present case seemed only to call for a little tact.
“I’m going,” muttered the boy to himself, “and I’d like to see anybody try to stop me.”
After dinner that evening Colonel Ellison’s frown had departed and George entered his study with confidence.
“Uncle,” he said, “you remember last week I spoke about going to Albany; well, I’d like to start to-morrow.”
Colonel Ellison laid down his pen, and glanced inquiringly over the rim of his eyeglasses.
“One of your school chums lives there, I believe?” he said.
“Yes, sir; and I want to get a chance to see him again before I’m bundled off bag and baggage to college.”
“Well, I don’t see any objections,” said the Colonel, slowly. “Remember the advice I have given you on previous occasions. And now, George, I’m extremely busy to-night, getting ready for a meeting of the board to-morrow, and I don’t wish to be disturbed under any pretext, as I must take an early train for New York in the morning.”
“But, uncle,” said George, “I wanted to ask you if——”
Colonel Ellison frowned, and impatiently seized his pen.
“You have my permission,” he said sharply. “Not another word, young man.”
He waved his hand, and George left the room.
“Well, it’s not my fault if he doesn’t like it,” thought the boy. “Let’s see how thingsstand. I have his permission to go to Albany; he said ‘Jack Lyons’ father is a good lawyer and useful citizen’; in that case, Jack must be all right, too. Besides, he would have consented—of course he would.” And, having satisfied himself that everything was as it ought to be, George retired, with pleasant visions of his trip.
Colonel Ellison left before George had a chance to see him, and the latter ate a hasty breakfast alone, his aunt having also gone to New York.
Then he packed up a few necessary belongings, donned one of his oldest suits, and made his way to the garage.
“Bon jour, Pierre,” he said.
“Bon jour, monsieur,” returned the Frenchman, politely. “You desire to speak with me?”
“Yes, get out the machine, Pierre. We’ll have a spin.”
Pierre looked at his young master’s clothes, and arched his eyebrows; then, with a slight gesture, turned toward the car.
“When monsieur is ready, I will be, too,” he said.
“I’m ready now.”
“Ma foi!” But beyond this momentary expression of surprise, Pierre made no comment, and, in a few minutes, he announced his readiness to go.
George deposited his suit case in the car, and took his place beside him.
“Let ’er rip,” he said.
“What is rip?” asked Pierre. “My coat?”
“No, no,” laughed the other. “Allez vite—go fast.”
“Ma foi! I see—you speak such funny English. Ha, ha! Yes, we let her rip, which not means that I tear the machine to pieces.”
“Oh, no,” laughed George. “The car belongs to me, you know—bought it with my own cash. When that’s to be done, I’ll attend to it myself.”
The touring car was soon passing between the gate-posts at the entrance.
“Now, where?” asked Pierre.
“Follow the river.”
George settled back on the cushioned seat with a sigh of contentment. The morning was pleasant, with enough air stirring totemper the heat; and the broad Hudson sparkled and gleamed between the trees like silver. Birds were singing and flitting about; a couple of red squirrels dashed frantically across the sunlit road, making for the nearest tree, and were soon lost to view amidst the foliage. It was all very pleasant and cheerful, and George’s shining eyes told of his enjoyment.
“How far we go?” asked the chauffeur, presently.
“Oh, a good way yet, Pierre; I’m bound for Albany.”
“Ma foi!” exclaimed the Frenchman, in great astonishment. “But why you not say that before we go wrong way?” and he brought the machine to a standstill.
“Oh, no, it’s all right, Pierre,” laughed George. “Keep straight ahead till I tell you to stop. I’m not going to the railroad station.”
“Oh, you take a boat, then?”
“Yes, a kind of one.”
And Pierre, sorely puzzled, shook his head, and muttered, “Ma foi” several times, under his breath.
The boy’s eyes were constantly roving over the river for any signs of the “Gray Gull”; but half an hour passed, and it had not been sighted in any of the numerous little coves, or along the broad sweep of the river.
“Wonder where in the dickens it can have gone to,” murmured George, with a sudden fear that his plans might after all go astray.
“What you say?”
“Nothing, Pierre; I was only thinking.”
“H’m,” muttered the Frenchman, and he contracted his brow, and cast a very strange look at his young companion.
“Hooray! I see it!” exclaimed George, suddenly. “Put on a bit more speed, Pierre. That funny-looking house-boat is what I’m after.”
“Eight seconds I take you there, but for the law,” said Pierre. “We go fast, but slow, too. Is it enough?”
“Yes!” cried George, holding on tight. “Whizz! Look at that trail of dust behind us!”
A few moments later, the millionaire boy was waving his arms, while the puzzled expressionon Pierre’s face grew into one of positive wonderment.
“Hello, Jack—hello!”
An answering hail came over the water, and the “Gray Gull” began to put inshore.
“Hold on, Pierre; we don’t go any further,” said George, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You can skip back home.”
“Ma foi! You—you go on that thing, Monsieur George? It isn’t possible. No—no; you say it for to make a laugh—what you call it in English a joke; ees that not it?”
“Joke, nothing, Pierre. Just wait here a minute and you’ll see me sailing away.”
“I no understand it, monsieur. Your uncle, he knows?”
“Now look here, Pierre,” said George, whose eyes were beginning to flash; “I don’t see that it’s any of your affair. I’m surprised at you. Stop here, and I’ll get out.”
“Ha—that man again,” cried the chauffeur, suddenly. “Ah, ha, monsieur your uncle say to him, ‘Keep away—I no want you here.’ Yes, saire.”
“Great Scott!” gasped George. “If it isn’t Norman Redfern standing on the deck. Well, of all things! I thought he had gone back to the Palisades.”
Although more than glad to see his former tutor, George was vexed that the chauffeur should have noted his presence, especially as Pierre had, for some reason or other, taken a strong dislike to him and never made any effort to conceal it. Then, again, he felt that his uncle would certainly object to his traveling in company with the young man whom he had so unceremoniously discharged; yet to back out now would be to put upon Norman a slight which he felt was not deserved.
The result of these cogitations was to make George very irritable indeed; and Pierre’s next words added fuel to his feelings.
“Yes, saire, he say, ‘Keep away—I no want you here;’ and you go with that man, Monsieur George? Ma foi—pouf! What will monsieur the Colonel say?”
George, suit case in hand, had stepped to the ground.
“Cut it out, Pierre,” he exclaimed, angrily. “You have the worst nerve I ever heard of.”
“HIS EYES SNAPPED FIERCELY”
“HIS EYES SNAPPED FIERCELY”
“I understand monsieur the Colonel’s English; but not yours, sometimes,” returned the chauffeur, in withering accents.
“Well, you’ll understand it pretty fast when I get back home. Unless you learn your place a bit better, I’ll have you fired. Hello, Jack! Hello, Norman! Be with you in a moment.”
“Fired—fired! What you mean by fired?”
“Sent off—discharged, stupid.”
A wave of intelligence crossed Pierre’s face; his eyes snapped fiercely.
“You have insult me,” he said, haughtily. “Very well—we see. Bah! And if he say anything to me,” indicating Norman by a wave of his hand, “I smack him in the face like this,” and Pierre smote the air with considerable force.
George looked at him for a moment in silence. Then the chauffeur’s ludicrous expression caused his own angry feelings to suddenly vanish; he burst into a hearty laugh, much to the astonishment and disgust of Pierre, and, picking up his suit case, walked toward the river.
“Hello, George! What’s the row?” asked Jack Lyons, from the deck of the “Gray Gull.” “Did you try your French on him again?”
“Wait a second, Jack; very glad to see you, Norman,” and the rich boy’s tone spoke of his sincerity. “Hello, what’s that duffer up to?”
Pierre, whose Latin blood was thoroughly aroused, had started forward.
“You have insult me!” he cried. “And for why?—For him,” pointing to Norman Redfern. “I no stand it, monsieur; your uncle shall hear—ma foi—he shall!”
“Duck him in the river, and cool him off,” advised Joe.
“Ha, you call me ‘duck,’ hey? And I say to you—‘goose’! Pouf! In the belle France, children no talk like that.”
“Oh, ring off,” remarked Joe, scornfully.
“I will myself to your uncle report, and——”
“Don’t report any one else,” laughed Joe.
“By and by, I come for you with monsieur the Colonel,” went on Pierre, fiercely. “You say fired—fired, to me? Pouf—you see!”and, with another wave of his hand, the excited Frenchman was off, while the others stood gazing after his retreating form in silence.