Jonah and Co. (4 page)

A mischievous look came into Adèle’s brown eyes.

“It’s not half past twelve yet,” she said slowly. My brother-in-law groaned. “Still… I don’t know… After all, we did have breakfast rather early, didn’t we?”

Berry smacked his lips.

“A sensible woman,” he said, “is above boobies.”

As he spoke, Ping swept by stormily.

There was a moment’s silence. Then —

“Hurray,” cried Adèle excitedly; “we’ve got a rise!”

It was patently true. Jonah was wishful to reassure himself upon a point which an hour ago he had taken for granted. The reflection that at the moment we had not been trying to outdistance him increased our delight. All the same, his ability to out-drive us was unquestionable. But whether he could give us the start he had agreed to was another matter.

We ate a festive lunch…

An hour with Poitiers is like a sip of old wine.

The absence of the stir and bustle which fret her sister capitals is notable. So reverend and thoughtful is the old grey-muzzled town that it is hard to recognise the bristling war-dog that bestrode the toughest centuries, snarled in the face of Fate, and pulled down Time. The old soldier has got him a cassock and become a gentle-faced dominie. The sleepy music of bells calling, the pensive air of study, the odour of simple piety, the sober confidence of great possessions, are most impressive. Poitiers has beaten her swords into crosiers and her spears into tuning-forks. Never was there an old age so ripe, so mellow, so becoming. With this for evidence, you may look History in the eyes and swear that you have seen Poitiers in the prime of her full life. The dead will turn in their graves to hear you; children unborn will say you knew no better. And Poitiers will take the threefold compliment with a grave smile. She has heard it so often.

Celt, Roman, Visigoth, Moor, Englishman – all these have held Poitiers in turn. Proud of their tenure, lest History should forget, three at least of them have set up their boasts in stone. The place was, I imagine, a favourite. Kings used her, certainly. Dread Harry Plantagenet gave her a proud cathedral. Among her orchards Coeur de Lion worshipped Jehane, jousted, sang of a summer evening, and spent his happiest days. Beneath her shadow the Black Prince lighted such a candle of Chivalry as has never yet been put out. Not without honour of her own countrymen, for thirteen years the High Court of Parliament preferred her to Paris. Within her walls the sainted Joan argued her inspiration.

I have dived at random into her wallet, yet see what I have brought forth. If memories are precious, Poitiers is uncommon rich.

As if to console us for our departure, the road to Sister Angoulême was superb. Broad, straight, smooth as any floor, the great highway stretched like a strip of marquetry inlaid upon the countryside. Its invitation was irresistible…

We reached the windy town in time for a late tea.

As soon as this was over, Berry and I escaped and carried Pong off to a garage, there to be oiled and greased against the morrow’s race. Somewhat to our amusement, before we had been there ten minutes, our cousin arrived with Ping and the same object. Had the incident occurred at Poitiers, I should have been encouraged as well. It was another sign that Jonah did not despise his opponents, and his opinion was worth having. As it was, the compliment left me unmoved…

The truth was, Berry had that afternoon contracted two habits. Again and again on the way from Poitiers he had shown a marked tendency to choke his engine, and five times he had failed to mesh the gears when changing speed. Twice we had had to stop altogether and start again. He had, of course, reproached himself violently, and I had made light of the matter. But, for all the comfort I offered him, I was seriously alarmed. In a word, his sudden lapse suggested that my brother-in-law was entering that most unpleasant stage which must be traversed by all who will become chauffeurs and are taught, so to speak, to run before they can walk.

It was after we had dined, and when my wife and I were seated – myself, by virtue of my injury, upon a couch, and she upon a cushion beside me – before the comfort of a glowing log-fire, that Adèle laid down the
Guide
and leaned her head against my knee.

“I’m glad I married you,” she said.

I looked at Nobby.

“So are we both,” said I.

“I wonder,” said Adèle, “whether you are really, or whether you’re just being nice.”

“Personally, I’m just being nice. Nobby is really. Of course, he may be making the best of a bad job. As a worldly good of mine, I just endowed you with him, and that was that.”

“You were both very happy before – before I came.”

“We thought we were.”

“O-o-oh,” said Adèle, twisting her head around, to see my face. “You were. You know you were.”

The gleeful accusation of the soft brown eyes was irresistible. To gain time, I swallowed. Then —

“So were you,” I said desperately.

“I know I was,” was the disconcerting reply.

“Well, then, why shouldn’t we—”

“But you said you weren’t.”

I called the Sealyham.

“Nobby,” said I, “I’m being bullied. The woman we love is turning my words against me.”

For a moment the dog looked at us. Then he sat up and begged.

“And what,” said Adèle, caressing him, “does that mean?”

“He’s pleading my cause – obviously.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Adèle. “I wish he could talk.”

“You’re a wicked, suspicious girl. Here are two miserable males, all pale and trembling for love of you – you’ve only got to smile to make them rich – and you set your small pink heel upon their devotion. I admit it’s a soft heel – one of the very softest—”

“–I ever remember,” flashed Adèle. “How very interesting! ‘Heels I have Held,’ by Wild Oats. Were the others pink, too?”

Solemnly I regarded her.

“A little more,” said I, “and I shan’t teach her to drive.”

Adèle tossed her head.

“Berry’s going to do that,” she said. “Directly we get to Pau.”

I laughed savagely.

“I’m talking of automobiles,” I said, “not golf balls.”

“I know,” said my wife. “And Berry’s going to—”

“Well, he’s not!” I shouted. “For one thing, he can’t, and, for another, it’s my right, and I won’t give it up. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since I knew you. I’ve dreamed about it. You’re miles cleverer than I am, you’re wise, you’re quick-witted, you can play, you can sing like a nightingale, you can take me on at tennis, you can ride – driving a car’s about the only thing I can teach you, and—”

Adèle laid a smooth hand upon my mouth.

“Nobby and I,” she said, “are very proud of you. They’re not in the same street with their master, they know, but they’re awfully proud to be his wife and dog.”

To such preposterous generosity there was but one answer.

As I made it —

“May I teach you to drive, lady?”

A far-away look came into the soft brown eyes.

“If you don’t,” said Adèle, “nobody shall.”

The day of the race dawned, clear and jubilant. By eight o’clock the sun was high in a blue heaven, new-swept by a steady breeze. Limping into the courtyard before breakfast, I rejoiced to notice that the air was appreciably warmer than any I had breathed for a month.

We had hoped to leave Angoulême at nine o’clock. Actually it was a quarter to ten before the luggage was finally strapped into place and my brother-in-law climbed into the car. With a sigh for a bad beginning, I reflected that if we could not cover the two hundred and twenty odd miles in twelve and a quarter hours, we ought to be shot.

Jonah stood by, watch in hand.

“Are you ready?” he said.

I nodded.

“Right,” said my cousin. “I’m not sure we’ve picked the best route, but it’s too late now. No divergence allowed.”

“I agree.”

“And you don’t drive.”

“It’s out of the question.”

“Right. Like to double the bets?”

“No,” said Adèle, “they wouldn’t. I won’t allow it. But I’ll bet with you. I can’t afford much, but I’ll bet you a hundred francs we’re there before you.”

“I’ll give you tens,” said my cousin. “And I start in one hour from
Now!
”

When I say that, upon the word being given, Pong, whose manners had been hitherto above reproach, utterly refused to start or be started, it will be seen that Fate was against us…

It took us exactly two minutes to locate the trouble – which was in the magneto – and just over two hours to put it right.

As we slid out of Angoulême, an impatient clock announced that it was midday.

At least the delay had done something. So far as the second wager was concerned, it had altered the whole complexion of the case. We were no longer betting upon anything approaching a certainty. Indeed, unless we could break the back of the distance before daylight failed, our chances of reaching Pau before ten were worth little. If the road to Bordeaux were as fine as that from Poitiers, and Berry could find his form, we should probably run to time. We could not afford, however, to give a minute away.

As luck would have it, the state of the road was, on the whole, rather worse than any we had used since we left Boulogne. Presumably untouched for over six years, the wear and tear to which, as one of the arteries springing from a great port, it had been subjected, had turned a sleek highway into a shadow of itself. There was no flesh; the skin was broken; the very bones were staring.

For the first half hour we told one another that we had struck a bad patch. For the second we expressed nervous hopes that the going would grow no worse. After that, Berry and I lost interest and suffered in silence. Indeed, but for Adèle, I think we should have thrown up the sponge and spent the night at Bordeaux.

My lady, however, kept us both going.

She had studied our route until she knew it by heart, and was just burning to pilot us through Bordeaux and thence across Gascony.

“They’re sure to make mistakes after Bordeaux. You know what the signposts are like. And the road’s really tricky. But I spent two hours looking it up yesterday evening. I took you through Barbezieux all right, didn’t I?”

“Like a book, darling.”

“Well, I can do that every time. And I daresay they’ll have tyre trouble. Besides, the road’s no worse for us than it is for them, and after Bordeaux it’ll probably be splendid. Of course we’ll be there before ten – we can’t help it. I want to be there before Jonah. I’ve got a hundred—”

“My dear,” I expostulated, “I don’t want to—”

“We’ve got a jolly good chance, anyway. While you were getting her right, I got the lunch, and we can eat that without stopping. You can feed Berry. We’ll gain half an hour like that.”

Before such optimism I had not the face to point out that, if our opponents had any sense at all, they had lunched before leaving Angoulême.

“Here’s a nice patch,” added Adèle. “Put her along, you two.”

Spurred by her enthusiasm, we bent again to the oars.

Contrary to my expectation, my brother-in-law, if unusually silent, was driving well. But the road was against him. He had not sufficient experience to be able to keep his foot steady upon the accelerator when a high speed and a rude surface conspired to dislodge it – a shortcoming which caused us all three much discomfort and lost a lot of mileage. Then, again, I dared not let him drive too close to the side of the road. Right at the edge the surface was well preserved, and I knew that Jonah’s off wheels would make good use of it. Such finesse, however, was out of Berry’s reach. We pelted along upon what remained of the crown painfully.

Seventy-three miles separate Bordeaux from Angoulême, and at the end of two hours fifty-four of them lay behind us. All things considered, this was extremely good, and when Adèle suggested that we should eat our lunch, I agreed quite cheerfully.

The suggestion, however, that I should feed Berry proved impracticable.

After four endeavours to introduce one end of a
petit pain
into his mouth – “Would it be asking too much,” said my brother-in-law, “if I suggested that you should suspend this assault? I don’t know what part of your face you eat with, but I usually use my mouth. I admit it’s a bit of a rosebud, but that’s no excuse for all these ‘outers.’ Yes, I know it’s a scream, but I was once told never to put
foie gras
upon the nose or cheeks. They say it draws the skin. Oh, and don’t let’s have any comic nonsense about the beer,” he added shortly. “Pour it straight into my breast-pocket and have done with it. Then I can suck my handkerchief.”

As he spoke, Nobby leaned forward and took the dishevelled sandwich out of my unready fingers.

“That’s right,” added Berry, with the laugh of a maniac. “Cast my portion to the dogs.” He dabbed his face with a handkerchief. “Never mind. When his hour comes, you’ll have to hold him out of the window. I’m not going to stop every time he wants to be sick.”

Eventually it was decided that, since we should have to stop for petrol, Berry must seize that opportunity to devour some food.

“Besides,” I concluded, “a rest of a quarter of an hour will do you good.”

As the words left my mouth, I noticed for the first time that my brother-in-law was tiring.

For the moment I thought I was mistaken, for upon our previous runs he had never turned a hair. Now, however, he seemed to be driving with an effort. As if to confirm my suspicions, at the very next hill he missed his change.

“I think,” I said quickly, “you ought to have your lunch right away. It’s no good getting done in for want of food.”

Berry shot me a pathetic glance.

“It isn’t that, old chap. It’s – Hang it all, it’s my shoulder! That cursed muscular rheumatism cropped up again yesterday…”

The murder was out.

After a little he admitted that, ever since we had left Poitiers, any quick movement of his left arm had caused him intense pain.

Of course both Adèle and I besought him to stop there and then and let the race go to blazes. Of this he would not hear, declaring that, so long as Jonah was behind, victory was not out of sight, and that nothing short of paralysis would induce him to jilt the jade. After a little argument, we let him have his way…