He married my aunt. You’ll meet him at Dreever.”
Jimmy said he would be delighted.
“I bet you won’t,” said the last of the Dreevers, with candor. “He’s
a frightful man–the limit. Always fussing round like a hen. Gives
me a fearful time, I can. tell you. Look here, I don’t mind telling
you–we’re pals–he’s dead set on my marrying a rich girl.”
“Well, that sounds all right. There are worse hobbies. Any
particular rich girl?”
“There’s always one. He sicks me on to one after another. Quite nice
girls, you know, some of them; only, I want to marry somebody else,
that girl you saw me with at the Savoy.”
“Why don’t you tell your uncle?”
“He’d have a fit. She hasn’t a penny; nor have I, except what I get
from him. Of course, this is strictly between ourselves.”
“Of course.”
“I know everybody thinks there’s money attached to the title; but
there isn’t, not a penny. When my Aunt Julia married Sir Thomas, the
whole frightful show was pretty well in pawn. So, you see how it
is.”
“Ever think of work?” asked Jimmy.
“Work?” said Lord Dreever, reflectively. “Well, you know, I
shouldn’t mind work, only I’m dashed if I can see what I could do. I
shouldn’t know how. Nowadays, you want a fearful specialized
education, and so on. Tell you what, though, I shouldn’t mind the
diplomatic service. One of these days, I shall have a dash at asking
my uncle to put up the money. I believe I shouldn’t be half-bad at
that. I’m rather a quick sort of chap at times, you know. Lots of
fellows have said so.”
He cleared his throat modestly, and proceeded.
“It isn’t only my Uncle Thomas,” he said. “There’s Aunt Julia, too.
She’s about as much the limit as he is. I remember, when I was a
kid, she was always sitting on me. She does still. Wait till you see
her. Sort of woman who makes you feel that your hands are the color
of tomatoes and the size of legs of mutton, if you know what I mean.
And talks as if she were biting at you. Frightful!”
Having unburdened himself of these criticisms, Lord Dreever yawned,
leaned back, and was presently asleep.
It was about an hour later that the train, which had been taking
itself less seriously for some time, stopping at stations of quite
minor importance and generally showing a tendency to dawdle, halted
again. A board with the legend, “Dreever,” in large letters showed
that they had reached their destination.
The station-master informed Lord Dreever that her ladyship had come
to meet the train in the motorcar, and was now waiting in the road
outside.
Lord Dreever’s jaw fell.
“Oh, lord!” he said. “She’s probably motored in to get the afternoon
letters. That means, she’s come in the runabout, and there’s only
room for two of us in that. I forgot to telegraph that you were
coming, Pitt. I only wired about Hargate. Dash it, I shall have to
walk.”
His fears proved correct. The car at the station door was small. It
was obviously designed to seat four only.
Lord Dreever introduced Hargate and Jimmy to the statuesque lady in
the tonneau; and then there was an awkward silence.
At this point, Spike came up, chuckling amiably, with a magazine in
his hand.
“Gee!” said Spike. “Say, boss, de mug what wrote dis piece must have
bin livin’ out in de woods. Say, dere’s a gazebo what wants to swipe
de heroine’s jools what’s locked in a drawer. So, dis mug, what ‘do
you t’ink he does?” Spike laughed shortly, in professional scorn.
“Why–”
“Is this gentleman a friend of yours, Spennie?” inquired Lady
Julia politely, eying the red-haired speaker coldly.
“It’s–” Spennie looked appealingly at Jimmy.
“It’s my man,” said Jimmy. “Spike,” he added in an undertone, “to
the woods. Chase yourself. Fade away.”
“Sure,” said the abashed Spike. “Dat’s right. It ain’t up to me to
come buttin’ in. Sorry, boss. Sorry, gents. Sorry loidy. Me for de
tall grass.”
“There’s a luggage-cart of sorts,” said Lord Dreever, pointing.
“Sure,” said Spike, affably. He trotted away.
“Jump in, Pitt,” said Lord Dreever. “I’m going to walk.”