IN THE AUTOMOBILE
George Clayton did not broach the subject of his trip that afternoon.
Colonel Ellison was still decidedly out of sorts, and George knew from
experience how he should be approached.
But the boy had been too long pampered and indulged to make him regard
the prospect with any trepidation. The Colonel might object--he often
did that, but only to capitulate in the end in the face of his ward’s
importunities--and the present case seemed only to call for a little
tact.
“I’m going,” muttered the boy to himself, “and I’d like to see anybody
try to stop me.”
After dinner that evening Colonel Ellison’s frown had departed and
George entered his study with confidence.
“Uncle,” he said, “you remember last week I spoke about going to
Albany; well, I’d like to start to-morrow.”
Colonel Ellison laid down his pen, and glanced inquiringly over the rim
of his eyeglasses.
“One of your school chums lives there, I believe?” he said.
“Yes, sir; and I want to get a chance to see him again before I’m
bundled off bag and baggage to college.”
“Well, I don’t see any objections,” said the Colonel, slowly. “Remember
the advice I have given you on previous occasions. And now, George,
I’m extremely busy to-night, getting ready for a meeting of the board
to-morrow, and I don’t wish to be disturbed under any pretext, as I
must take an early train for New York in the morning.”
“But, uncle,” said George, “I wanted to ask you if----”
Colonel Ellison frowned, and impatiently seized his pen.
“You have my permission,” he said sharply. “Not another word, young
man.”
He waved his hand, and George left the room.
“Well, it’s not my fault if he doesn’t like it,” thought the boy.
“Let’s see how things stand. I have his permission to go to Albany; he
said ‘Jack Lyons’ father is a good lawyer and useful citizen’; in that
case, Jack must be all right, too. Besides, he would have consented--of
course he would.” And, having satisfied himself that everything was as
it ought to be, George retired, with pleasant visions of his trip.
Colonel Ellison left before George had a chance to see him, and the
latter ate a hasty breakfast alone, his aunt having also gone to New
York.
Then he packed up a few necessary belongings, donned one of his oldest
suits, and made his way to the garage.
“Bon jour, Pierre,” he said.
“Bon jour, monsieur,” returned the Frenchman, politely. “You desire to
speak with me?”
“Yes, get out the machine, Pierre. We’ll have a spin.”
Pierre looked at his young master’s clothes, and arched his eyebrows;
then, with a slight gesture, turned toward the car.
“When monsieur is ready, I will be, too,” he said.
“I’m ready now.”
“Ma foi!” But beyond this momentary expression of surprise, Pierre made
no comment, and, in a few minutes, he announced his readiness to go.
George deposited his suit case in the car, and took his place beside
him.
“Let ’er rip,” he said.
“What is rip?” asked Pierre. “My coat?”
“No, no,” laughed the other. “Allez vite--go fast.”
“Ma foi! I see--you speak such funny English. Ha, ha! Yes, we let her
rip, which not means that I tear the machine to pieces.”
“Oh, no,” laughed George. “The car belongs to me, you know--bought it
with my own cash. When that’s to be done, I’ll attend to it myself.”
The touring car was soon passing between the gate-posts at the entrance.
“Now, where?” asked Pierre.
“Follow the river.”
George settled back on the cushioned seat with a sigh of contentment.
The morning was pleasant, with enough air stirring to temper the
heat; and the broad Hudson sparkled and gleamed between the trees
like silver. Birds were singing and flitting about; a couple of red
squirrels dashed frantically across the sunlit road, making for the
nearest tree, and were soon lost to view amidst the foliage. It was
all very pleasant and cheerful, and George’s shining eyes told of his
enjoyment.
“How far we go?” asked the chauffeur, presently.
“Oh, a good way yet, Pierre; I’m bound for Albany.”
“Ma foi!” exclaimed the Frenchman, in great astonishment. “But why you
not say that before we go wrong way?” and he brought the machine to a
standstill.
“Oh, no, it’s all right, Pierre,” laughed George. “Keep straight ahead
till I tell you to stop. I’m not going to the railroad station.”
“Oh, you take a boat, then?”
“Yes, a kind of one.”
And Pierre, sorely puzzled, shook his head, and muttered, “Ma foi”
several times, under his breath.
The boy’s eyes were constantly roving over the river for any signs of
the “Gray Gull”; but half an hour passed, and it had not been sighted
in any of the numerous little coves, or along the broad sweep of the
river.
“Wonder where in the dickens it can have gone to,” murmured George,
with a sudden fear that his plans might after all go astray.
“What you say?”
“Nothing, Pierre; I was only thinking.”
“H’m,” muttered the Frenchman, and he contracted his brow, and cast a
very strange look at his young companion.
“Hooray! I see it!” exclaimed George, suddenly. “Put on a bit more
speed, Pierre. That funny-looking house-boat is what I’m after.”
“Eight seconds I take you there, but for the law,” said Pierre. “We go
fast, but slow, too. Is it enough?”
“Yes!” cried George, holding on tight. “Whizz! Look at that trail of
dust behind us!”
A few moments later, the millionaire boy was waving his arms, while
the puzzled expression on Pierre’s face grew into one of positive
wonderment.
“Hello, Jack--hello!”
An answering hail came over the water, and the “Gray Gull” began to put
inshore.
“Hold on, Pierre; we don’t go any further,” said George, his eyes
sparkling with pleasure. “You can skip back home.”
“Ma foi! You--you go on that thing, Monsieur George? It isn’t possible.
No--no; you say it for to make a laugh--what you call it in English a
joke; ees that not it?”
“Joke, nothing, Pierre. Just wait here a minute and you’ll see me
sailing away.”
“I no understand it, monsieur. Your uncle, he knows?”
“Now look here, Pierre,” said George, whose eyes were beginning to
flash; “I don’t see that it’s any of your affair. I’m surprised at you.
Stop here, and I’ll get out.”
“Ha--that man again,” cried the chauffeur, suddenly. “Ah, ha, monsieur
your uncle say to him, ‘Keep away--I no want you here.’ Yes, saire.”
“Great Scott!” gasped George. “If it isn’t Norman Redfern standing
on the deck. Well, of all things! I thought he had gone back to the
Palisades.”
Although more than glad to see his former tutor, George was vexed that
the chauffeur should have noted his presence, especially as Pierre had,
for some reason or other, taken a strong dislike to him and never made
any effort to conceal it. Then, again, he felt that his uncle would
certainly object to his traveling in company with the young man whom he
had so unceremoniously discharged; yet to back out now would be to put
upon Norman a slight which he felt was not deserved.
The result of these cogitations was to make George very irritable
indeed; and Pierre’s next words added fuel to his feelings.
“Yes, saire, he say, ‘Keep away--I no want you here;’ and you go with
that man, Monsieur George? Ma foi--pouf! What will monsieur the Colonel
say?”
George, suit case in hand, had stepped to the ground.
“Cut it out, Pierre,” he exclaimed, angrily. “You have the worst nerve
I ever heard of.”
[Illustration: “HIS EYES SNAPPED FIERCELY”]
“I understand monsieur the Colonel’s English; but not yours,
sometimes,” returned the chauffeur, in withering accents.
“Well, you’ll understand it pretty fast when I get back home. Unless
you learn your place a bit better, I’ll have you fired. Hello, Jack!
Hello, Norman! Be with you in a moment.”
“Fired--fired! What you mean by fired?”
“Sent off--discharged, stupid.”
A wave of intelligence crossed Pierre’s face; his eyes snapped fiercely.
“You have insult me,” he said, haughtily. “Very well--we see. Bah! And
if he say anything to me,” indicating Norman by a wave of his hand,
“I smack him in the face like this,” and Pierre smote the air with
considerable force.
George looked at him for a moment in silence. Then the chauffeur’s
ludicrous expression caused his own angry feelings to suddenly vanish;
he burst into a hearty laugh, much to the astonishment and disgust of
Pierre, and, picking up his suit case, walked toward the river.
“Hello, George! What’s the row?” asked Jack Lyons, from the deck of the
“Gray Gull.” “Did you try your French on him again?”
“Wait a second, Jack; very glad to see you, Norman,” and the rich boy’s
tone spoke of his sincerity. “Hello, what’s that duffer up to?”
Pierre, whose Latin blood was thoroughly aroused, had started forward.
“You have insult me!” he cried. “And for why?--For him,” pointing to
Norman Redfern. “I no stand it, monsieur; your uncle shall hear--ma
foi--he shall!”
“Duck him in the river, and cool him off,” advised Joe.
“Ha, you call me ‘duck,’ hey? And I say to you--‘goose’! Pouf! In the
belle France, children no talk like that.”
“Oh, ring off,” remarked Joe, scornfully.
“I will myself to your uncle report, and----”
“Don’t report any one else,” laughed Joe.
“By and by, I come for you with monsieur the Colonel,” went on Pierre,
fiercely. “You say fired--fired, to me? Pouf--you see!” and, with
another wave of his hand, the excited Frenchman was off, while the
others stood gazing after his retreating form in silence.