Christmas Day broke clear and bright. Punctual to the minute the motor
came puffing along, the youthful-looking chauffeur drawing up before the
door with an air of conscious complaisance.
Despite his very professional attire--perhaps, indeed, because of it--so
very youthful did he appear, that Jack was visited by a qualm.
"Er--er--are you going to drive us all the way?" he inquired anxiously.
"When I engaged the car, I saw . . . 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.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25