The Empire Annual for Girls, 1911 | Page 4

. . I thought I had arranged with----"
"My father, sir. It was my father you saw. Father said, being Christmas
Day, he didn't care to turn out, so he sent me----"
"You are a qualified driver--quite capable . . . ?"
[Sidenote: A Good Start]
The lad smiled, a smile of ineffable calm. His eyelids drooped, the
corners of his mouth twitched and were still. He replied with two words
only, an unadorned "Yes, sir," but there was a colossal, a Napoleonic
confidence in his manner, which proved quite embarrassing to his
hearers. Margaret pinched Jack's arm as a protest against further
questionings; Jack murmured something extraordinarily like an
apology; then they all tumbled into the car, tucked the rugs round their
knees, turned up the collars of their coats, and sailed off on the smooth,
swift voyage through the wintry air.
For the first hour all went without a hitch. The youthful chauffeur
drove smoothly and well; he had not much knowledge of the
countryside; but as Jack knew every turn by heart, having frequently
bicycled over the route, no delay was caused, and a merrier party of
Christmas revellers could not have been found than the four occupants
of the tonneau. They sang, they laughed, they told stories, and asked
riddles; they ate sandwiches out of a tin, and drank hot coffee out of a
thermos flask, and congratulated themselves, not once, but a dozen
times, over their own ingenuity in hitting upon such a delightful
variation to the usual Christmas programme.
More than half the distance had been accomplished; the worst part of
the road had been reached, and the car was beginning to bump and jerk

in a somewhat uncomfortable fashion. Jack frowned, and looked at the
slight figure of the chauffeur with a returning doubt.
"He's all right on smooth roads, but this part needs a lot of driving.
Another time----" He set his lips, and mentally rehearsed the
complaints which he would make to "my father" when he paid the bill.
Margaret gave a squeal, and looked doubtfully over the side.
"I--I suppose it's all right! What would happen if he lost control, and
we slipped back all the way downhill?"
"It isn't a question of control. It's a question of the strength of the car.
It's powerful enough for worse hills than this."
"What's that funny noise? It didn't sound like that before. Kind of a
clickety-clack. . . . Don't you hear it?"
"No. Of course not. Don't be stupid and imagine things that don't
exist. . . . What's the difference between----"
Jack nobly tried to distract attention from the car, but before another
mile had been traversed, the clickety-clack noise grew too loud to be
ignored, the car drew up with a jerk, and the chauffeur leaped out.
"I must just see----" he murmured vaguely; vaguely also he seemed to
grope at the machinery of the car, while the four occupants of the
tonneau hung over the doors watching his progress; then once more
springing to his seat, he started the car, and they went bumping
unevenly along the road. No more singing now; no more laughing and
telling of tales; deep in each breast lay the presage of coming ill; four
pairs of eyes scanned the dreary waste of surrounding country, while
four brains busily counted up the number of miles which still lay
between them and their destination. Twenty miles at least, and not a
house in sight except one dreary stone edifice standing back from the
road, behind a mass of evergreen trees.
"This fellow is no good for rough roads. He would wear out a car in no
time, to say nothing of the passengers. Can't think why we haven't had

a puncture before now!" said Jack gloomily; whereupon Margaret
called him sharply to order.
"Don't say such things . . . don't think them. It's very wrong. You ought
always to expect the best----"
"Don't suppose my thinking is going to have any effect on rubber, do
you?" Jack's tone was decidedly snappy. He was a lover, and it tortured
him to think that an accident to the car might delay his meeting with his
love. He had never spent a Christmas Day with Myra before; surely on
this day of days she would be kinder, sweeter, relax a little of her proud
restraint. Perhaps there would be mistletoe. . . . Suppose he found
himself alone with Myra beneath the mistletoe bough? Suppose he
kissed her? Suppose she turned upon him with her dignified little air
and reproached him, saying he had no right? Suppose he said, "Myra!
will you give me the right?" . . .
No wonder that the car seemed slow to the lover's mind; no wonder that
every fresh jerk and