A rolling stone

As Lady Kesters motored home in her smart new Rolls-Royce, her expression was unusually grave; for once Uncle Dick had proved invulnerable, and she was overpowered with surprise; for her ladyship was so accustomed “to push the world before her,” to borrow an Irish expression, that any little resistance affected her in the nature of a shock.

Her brother was awaiting her in the smoking-room, and as she entered and threw off her furs, he said—

“So it was no go, Leila! Your embassy was a failure; defeat is written on your face—ahem—I told you so!”

“Now, Owen, I call this base ingratitude. I’ve wasted my whole morning fighting for you, I am worsted in the battle, and you receive me with grins and gibes!”

“You see, I can understand Uncle Dick’s attitude; he is pretty sick of me, and I don’t blame him; after all, when you come to think of it, why should he support a healthy, able-bodied duffer simply because he is his nephew?”

“Worse than that,” amended his sister, “his heir! I can understand his attitude even better than you, Owen. As a young man he never had any real fling, and could scarcely afford cabs and clothes or anything he wanted. He was hampered by a hopelessly extravagant father.”

“And now in his old age he is tormented by a spendthrift nephew.”

“Yes, and I can’t exactly explain; but I grasp the situation. You have had, what as a young man he never enjoyed—that is to say, a splendid time—and chiefly at his expense. He must feel just a little bit sore.”

“No; old Dick is a rattling good sort, and I don’t agree with you, Leila. It’s not so much the money he grudges, but that he thinks I’ll never do any good. I’ve no ballast. I’ve got to sally out into the world, like the hero in a fairy tale, and prove myself!”

“Yes, my dear brother; you practically start to-day, March the 31st, and do you know that I’ve got an idea,—and from Purdon, of all people. He is rather smart looking, and might pass for a gentleman, till he opens his mouth; besides, I happen to know that his mother lives in Fulham, and keeps a small greengrocer’s shop.”

“Yes, but your idea? You don’t want me to start in that line, do you?”

“No,” with an irrepressible smile; “I want you to become a chauffeur!”

“A chauffeur!” he repeated, subsiding into an adjacent arm-chair; “but why?”

“But why not?”

“Well, of course, I used to drive a car—and yes—your idea isn’t half bad; a chauffeur gets about the world for nothing, has fair pay, and, by all accounts, bar washing the car, a fairly good time.”

“You need not be thinking of a good time, Owen; but put all idea of amusement out of your head, and make up your mind that, during the next two years, you will be doing time—as a punishment for your crimes! Now, to be practical, you must have a certificate, and you and I will run into the country for the next day or two, and you shall drive the car; of course you are out of practice, and Purdon shall give you tips. I suppose you know all about magnetos, carburetters, and speed? I expect in a week you will qualify and pass, and there you are!”

“Yes, my lady, in a new black leather suit. I’ll do my best; I see you’ve fixed it up.”

She nodded assent. He was accustomed to Leila’s fixing up of his affairs, and never disputed her authority.

“You can take the car out in the morning, and get accustomed to the traffic. I think you will make an excellent chauffeur, as you have a strong head and no nerves.”

“Perhaps I may, and I’ve a sort of taste for mechanics. As a kid, you remember, I was mad to be an engine-driver.”

“Yes; you were always blowing things up, or breaking them down, or taking them to pieces.”

“I dare say I’ll have something of the breaking down and taking to pieces in my new career.”

“Only it’s so frightfully risky; you might go in for being an airman—that’s where you could make money!”

“Yes, with a two to one chance of breaking my neck.”

“Think of ten thousand pounds earned in a few hours! All the same it’s out of the question, I couldn’t bear the anxiety, it’s too dangerous; though I see the day coming when airships will displace motors, and I shall be flying over to Paris to dine and do a theatre.”

“Meanwhile, give me mother earth and a 60 h.p. car! Well, so it’s settled,” he said, jumping to his feet and tossing the stump of his cigarette into the fire; “yes, I’ll be a chauffeur all right—but what about the pay?”

“I expect you start at two guineas a week, with or without clothes, and find yourself.”

“A hundred a year, and an open-air billet! I say, I shall do splendidly. Leila, I feel that Uncle Dick’s prize is already in my hand.”

“Don’t be too sure of that! Bear in mind that some situations may not suit you, that you may not suit them, and be thrown out of employment.”

“That’s true; it has happened to me twice already—the Army and the ranch—and I’ve no luck.”

“What do you mean, Owen?”

“I mean that nothing comes my way; other chaps get all they want in big things, or little. Don’t you know the sort that fall across people they wish to meet, that get the best corners at a shoot, the best hands at cards, that win big sweepstakes and lotteries, come in for fine legacies, and, at a good old age, die very comfortably in their beds?”

His sister nodded.

“I have one peculiarity. I can’t call it gift, and it’s of no earthly value. I only wish it was marketable; I’d pass it on like a shot.”

“What is it—second sight?”

“No, that’s all bosh! It’s—it’s—I don’t know how to put it—the being on the spot when out-of-the-way affairs come off,—sensational things, accidents, discoveries, deaths. They seem to drop into my day’s work in an extraordinary way; sometimes I begin to think I’ve got the Evil Eye!”

“Now that’s nonsense if you like! You have knocked about a good deal for the last seven years, and naturally seen far more than people at home.”

“Well, anyhow, I wish this queer sort of fate would change, and shove me towards something different—a good post.”

“And you believe you’d keep it?”

“Anyway, I’d do my little best. My three weeks as steward were a breaking-in.”

“But you were acting all the time, Owen—you know you love it! and you realised that there was a limit to the experience?”

“No, honour bright, I wasn’t playing the fool. I am quick and ready, and not afraid of work. I say, look here,” and he took his hands out of his pockets and held them up, the palms towards her.

“Oh, oh, my poor dear boy! they are like—like—leather! Like a working man’s, only clean!”

“Well, I never was a kid-glove chap, and the reins have hardly been out of them for twelve months. I’m fairly good with my hands, although an awful duffer with my head.”

“Just the opposite to me,” declared his sister; “I can scarcely sew a button on, and I can’t do up a parcel or tie a knot. But to return to our business. Once you have a certificate, the next thing will be to find you a situation. You had better begin in some very quiet country place—a long way from Town and talk—and I will recommend you.”

“You!” and he burst into a loud laugh.

“Oh yes, you may laugh; but who else is there? We do not wish to invite the world into our family laundry.”

“Thank you, Leila.”

“Don’t be silly! I will give you an excellent character,” she continued imperturbably, “as a sober, respectable young man, most careful, obliging, and anxious to please.”

“Well, that sounds all right.”

“And you must really be, as the French advertisements say, ‘un chauffeur sérieux,’ and promise not to play the fool, and I shall get you a nice situation that I happen to know of, with two old ladies.”

“O Lord!” he expostulated; “can’t you make it a couple of old gentlemen? I’d much rather go to them.”

“Yes, no doubt you would,” she answered; “but you cannot pick and choose, and this place seems the very one for a start. These are the two Miss Parretts.”

“I say, what a name! Any cats?”

“I believe they are an old French family—de Palairet, and have the dark eyes and animation of the race,—but they are so long in England, they have become Parrett.”

“De Palairet is rather a mouthful. And whereabouts do the old birds nest?”

“In a remote part of Midshire. I came across them when I stayed with our cousins, the Davenants, down at Westmere; when I was a girl I went there every summer, but now the family place is sold.”

“Yes, the Davenants are broke. Young Davenant was in the Hussars with me, and was frightfully hard up.”

“The two Miss Parretts lived in the village of Ottinge—Ottinge-in-the-Marsh—in a little old red cottage. They had two maids, two cats, and a sweet garden. The original property was in the neighbourhood, and the family manor of the Parretts. The father of these old ladies, Colonel Parrett, married in India, when he was a sub., a planter’s daughter, simply because he, they say, was dared to make her an offer—and whatever a Parrett is dared to do—they do.”

“I say, I think I shall like them! I shall dare them to double my salary.”

“The first Mrs. Parrett died and left a baby, your future mistress. Her father sent her home, and married, years later, an Irish girl, and again his wife died and left him with two more girls. One married the village parson, the other lived with her father and sister in the Manor. After the death of Colonel Parrett, it was found that he had squandered all his money putting it into follies: the Manor was mortgaged to the chimneys, the daughters had to turn out, and for years lived in genteel poverty. Now comes a turn of Fortune’s wheel! Some distant Parrett relative bequeathed a heap of money to Miss Parrett, and she and Miss Susan have gone back to the Manor. Bella Parrett must be well over seventy; Susan is about fifty, has the youngest heart I ever knew in an elderly body, and is the most unselfish creature in the world. Miss Parrett is an egotistical old person, full of pedigree and importance, but always delightfully sweet and affectionate to me. She looks obstinate and self-willed, and I feel positive that some one has dared her to buy a motor! I had a letter from her the other day, asking me to take up the character of a cook; she mentioned that she was about to purchase a most beautiful automobile upholstered in green morocco leather,—think of that! and would soon be looking for a nice, steady, respectable young man as chauffeur, and”—pointing at her brother with an ivory paper knife—“here he is!”

“Is he?” he responded doubtfully, “I’m not so sure.”

“Yes. I admit that it will be hideously dull, and I can absolutely guarantee you against any sensational experiences. It is just a sleepy little country place, with few big people in the neighbourhood: no racing, shockingly bad hunting—not that this will affect you—but it will be an ideal spot for putting in the time. You will never see a soul you know; I’ll keep you well supplied with books, papers, and news, and steal down to see you now and then, ‘under the rose.’”

“Don’t, don’t!” he protested, with a laugh, “think of my spotless character.”

“Yes; but I shall come all the same! The place is notoriously healthy, I dare say you may get some good fishing, you will hardly have anything to do—they won’t go out much—of course you’ll pay a boy to clean the car, and I’ve no doubt that the old ladies will take an enormous fancy to you and leave you a fortune, and you will be just as happy as the day is long.”

“Oh, all right. Then, in that case, my dear Sis, since you say there is a chance of a great fortune and good fishing, you may book me for the situation by the next post.”