CHAPTER II

I FIND A JOB

I awoke some twelve hours later, toward noon of the following day.

I now knew that I, and I alone, had been drunk the previous night, and had got only what I deserved. I realized that Bob Hewitt had tried to save me from myself, as he had done on other occasions, and I was filled with abysmal self-disgust. More, I experienced a lively dread when I thought of that mad ride from Princeton to Sea Bright--for it was near the latter place that it had ended. How had I escaped breaking my worthless neck, even granting the special Providence which is supposed to watch over the fool, sober or otherwise?

I remembered nothing of that ride but my meeting with the little bronze man and the girl; and whether this had really happened, I did not know. Rather, considering the impossible coloring of the gentleman, I knew the whole affair was merely one of the many strange pictures of my delirium. I remembered also the agreement I had made with Hewitt, and of my discharging Jensen, but all else that happened was a complete blank.

The good Samaritan who took me in was an old farmer by the name of Taylor. It would seem that following my assault, the obliging stranger had not only made off with my car, but everything I carried, even down to the clothes I wore. Then he had deposited me behind a hedge, where I must have lain until early morning, for Taylor now told me that on his way to market he had found me crawling on my hands and knees from a field.

"Of course, I wanted to let your folks know what had happened to you and where you was, Mr. Joyce, but I couldn't find out nohow where you come from," he finished, beaming on me with his kindly, faded blue eyes.

"I haven't any folks, nor many friends that would care what happened to me," I said truthfully. "How did you know my name was Joyce?"

"Why, from the chauffeur's recommendation in your pocket."

So my assailant was a chauffeur, out of a job, and desperate, no doubt. And he had been in such a hurry to exchange his clothes for mine that he had forgotten to remove the telltale paper.

Now I had no desire to confess my true name and the circumstances leading to my assault and robbery, thereby providing a news item for the press. The less I said to any one about that crazy ride of mine, the better. Dressed in my new outfit, I was, to Taylor, merely a chauffeur by the name of Joyce, and such I determined to remain for the time being. Accordingly I gave him an imaginative account of myself and the night's happenings, yet it bore some resemblance to the truth.

He was a kindly soul, and, after giving me some homely advice about drinking too much, insisted on lending me a dollar, for which I was properly thankful. It represented my car fare home, for, placed as I was, I doubt if I could have raised a penny on my name, certainly not without the publicity I wished to avoid. This was the first kindness ever done me by a stranger without payment or hope of reward since my coming into the Lawton fortune; the first tribute, as it were, to myself as a human being. And, thinking this over as I left his humble dwelling, it occurred to me that I was missing much in life.

Not wishing to return to New York until under cover of darkness, I set off aimlessly down the road, golden in the bright June sun. And presently rounding a sharp bend, I came upon a girl and a car, both in distress.

The machine, an expensive two-seater, had had a blow-out, and its owner was eying the result. Evidently her motoring knowledge did not extend to running repairs, and the car had no spare wheel or tire. Evidently, too, her helplessness had reached the point of exasperation, for I saw her give the damaged wheel a hearty kick, while she exclaimed: "There! Take that, you horrid old thing!"

"It's very provoking," I agreed, coming up, "but, somehow, kicking never seems to do it much good."

She started and looked round, having been unaware of my approach. Then she looked me over carefully and severely. "I don't need a philosopher, thank you, but a mechanic. I've been stuck here for at least a week, and you're the first living thing that has come along. I hope Providence has sent some one that knows something about blow-outs. Do you?"

"Blow-outs of all kinds are my speciality, madam."

"I'm only interested in this particular kind. Please stop talking and get busy. I should have been at the station long ago."

She had a very high-handed way with her, but then, too, she was very pretty. I know that every female in distress is supposed to be beautiful, but I can't help that; this one actually was. In fact, she was the girl I had seen the previous night in the town car de luxe, proving conclusively that that incident had really happened. Of course, if I had never seen her before, and if she had been aged, ugly, and infirm, it could not have obviated the necessity of my helping her; but I must admit I would have found considerably less enthusiasm in the performance. Also, I would have worked faster.

"You are very slow," she remarked, as I jacked up the car.

"Slow," I agreed, "but sure. Don't you use powder in your shoes?"

"S-sir!"

"I was referring to the car," I explained humbly, displaying the interior of the shoe.

"Oh!" she said, biting her lip. "I didn't know you called that thing a shoe. Are you sure? And why should you use powder, may I ask?" This very severely and with dignity, as if she still suspected me of undue levity.

So I explained the necessity of powder, while she eyed me doubtfully. "Well, I don't know much about the subject," she conceded. "No more than to drive after a fashion. And the chauffeur we had was very careless. This is the first time I've ever had any vital interest in blow-outs, and I think I can do no better than watch you carefully."

"I usually charge for giving lessons, but on this occasion I waive the fee."

"You are very kind, but I refuse to accept it. I shall pay you." And she sat down on the running board, while I proceeded to affix the patch, not the first I had done, by any means, as Jensen could have testified. If necessary, I could have taken down and reassembled the engine.

"You do it very well indeed," she conceded at length, her head at a critical angle. "Quite like a professional. But it does take an awfully long time, doesn't it?"

"It all depends on the--er--audience."

She pondered this and then decided that there was something offensive about it. Perhaps there was. But then she was really such a pretty girl and, as I have observed, one cannot have too much of pretty things.

"Please hurry," she said coldly. "I should have been at the station by this time. I'm sure I've missed the train. You will oblige me greatly by not dawdling any more. I don't care if it's sure so long as it's quick. All I want is for it to hold me till I get to the station."

"It is very fortunate," I murmured.

"You are impertinent, sir."

"A congenital failing," I confessed.

"Please go away, leave me, if you can't hurry and--and have some manners."

My task reluctantly finished at last, there now happened one of those apparently trivial incidents which so often decide not only the destinies of individuals but of nations, and which, viewed in the light of after events, seem like the working of Providence rather than chance. Much as I might care to prolong this agreeable meeting--agreeable in my estimation--I should have walked down the sunlit road and out of this charming girl's life, had I not instinctively searched my pockets for a handkerchief, something wherewith to wipe my hands. It always pays to be clean, for as I brought out a bandanna from a side pocket, a sheet of paper came with it and, fluttering in the gentle breeze, fell at the girl's feet--a very appropriate action. She picked it up and was about to hand it to me when some writing which it evidently bore--and which she could not avoid seeing--caught her eye. Her expression changed and she looked at me sharply with a new and, I might say, even proprietary interest.

"Why, you're Joyce!" she exclaimed. "How stupid of me not to have guessed it. I might have known it by the way you fixed that puncture. I suppose it's against the rules of the union to work any faster."

I didn't think her at all stupid and only wished I was equally good at guessing.

"I am Mr. Varney's niece," she added.

"Ah," I said. It was the only safe thing I could say.

She handed me back the paper which she had most obligingly refolded so that I couldn't see a word of what was written on it. "I am Miss Gelette," she said.

"Ah."

"I was on my way to the station to meet you, and you see why I didn't get there."

"Ah."

"I suppose your trunk's at the station?"

"Ah--that is, oh, I mean--ah!"

"Goodness me!" she exclaimed, stamping her foot. "Have you got sunstroke? And have you no manners? Are you rude as well as stupid? Don't you understand that I'm your new employer's niece?"

Yes, my acute intelligence had unerringly reached that conclusion. That paper was the one Mr. Taylor had found in my pocket, and which I had forgotten about. I wished now that I had read it. Tardily enough I removed my cap, clicked my heels together, and imitated Jensen's bow. It is a very remarkable and striking bow; you bend lightly from the hips and then spring back like a child ducking for apples.

"That's better," she conceded. "And now we'd better see about your trunk. Did you tell them to send it on?"

"No, ma'am. You see--well, the fact is I haven't got one."

"What!"

"It went astray, ma'am, but I'm sure it will turn up all right. I've lost more than that--I mean, ma'am, I've lost it more than once and it has always turned up. It's a very hard trunk to lose. They make them that way."

"I don't see how they can. However--let me see, what is your first name? I've forgotten."

"Peter, ma'am."

"Well, Peter, I hope you'll give more satisfaction than your predecessor who left this morning. Now get that tire or shoe pumped----Oh, it is pumped? Very well; now take me to the Octagon."

"Beg pardon, but where and what is that, ma'am?"

"It's a hotel in Sea Bright. I forgot you weren't familiar with the neighborhood. Hurry up, now."

A few minutes later we were riding down the back road the way I had come, the road that led to the station and Sea Bright. We passed Taylor's little farm, and if he had seen me he certainly would have wondered how I had got in touch with my employers so soon.

I think Miss Gelette had not forgiven me for having observed her loss of dignity and temper, her assault on the damaged wheel, and my unfortunate remarks. And I think it pleased her immensely to discover that I was the new chauffeur, she mistress and I servant. For she queened it over me with such naïve enjoyment that I should have hated to disillusion her. It was, "Peter, take that turn. Slow down, Peter. To your right, Peter," with a lofty condescension and dignity that tickled me greatly.

We drew up to the big hotel, and she entered, leaving me an order to wait. The season, heightened by the promised coming of the President to the neighborhood, was only beginning, but the verandas were filled with the gay four o'clock throng.

"Well," I thought, "Hewitt and those fellows said I couldn't get a job, and here I am! As for this fellow Joyce, a fair exchange is no robbery. He's got my car and I've got his. And these folks are better for the deal. I've done them a service, for he would only have robbed them."

The adventure, if such it can be called, was precisely the kind which Hewitt would have classified as peculiar only to myself; irresponsible, freakish, ridiculous--in brief, "One of Pete Lawton's crazy escapades." And very likely he would have added the rider that I wasn't sober.

How far I meant to pursue the incident I had no idea; but even at this stage I had a faint premonition of impending mystery. At least, I couldn't help wondering why the chauffeur Joyce, if he was on his way to fill a good position, and not out of work and desperate, as I had supposed, should conceive the idea of knocking me on the head and stealing my car and all I carried. Where was the necessity, what the sense in doing such a reckless thing? And if he were not expected till to-day's afternoon train, how did it happen I had met him in the neighborhood last night?

While I was thinking over this, Miss Gelette appeared, and we proceeded to do some desultory shopping, a business I generally abhor. And as I was waiting for her at one store, a man came up to the car whom I recognized as Jules, the ex-chauffeur, who had sent me sprawling the previous night, and whose place I now filled. He failed to recognize me, but he knew the car. Evidently he had been celebrating his discharge in various saloons, instead of going home, and had absorbed just enough to be ugly.

"So you're the new guy that's got the job up to Varney's?" he remarked, eying me disparagingly. "Well, that's all they're fit to have--a cheap bonehead from a correspondence school. They don't know how to treat a high-class man. Huh! A fine house to work for----"

"Look here," I said, finding that the more indifference I assumed the louder he talked, "run away and tell all that to Sweeny. I've troubles of my own."

"Your troubles is only starting," he came back. "See if they ain't." And just then Miss Gelette came out of the store.

Jules turned upon her and proceeded to air his opinions more fully. He called her uncle a doddering old devil, and was starting on her with equally choice epithets when I got him by the slack of the pants and gave him a good running start toward New York. I imagine the crowd that was gathering quickly thought us acting for the movies, for they cheered, and then looked disappointed when I hopped back into the car and drove off.

"Home, Peter. Rumson Road. First turn to the right," said Miss Gelette, with unimpaired dignity, but rather red in the face, and she sat bolt upright until we had covered several blocks. Then a dimple, whose hidden presence I had suspected, suddenly appeared, and she said in the sweet, gracious voice of last night: "Thank you, Peter. I see that you're going to do capitally, and I reverse my opinion of you; you're sure--and quick. Very quick when you want to be."

We covered another block, and then she added: "That man Jules blames me for his discharge, but he discharged himself by his own conduct. My uncle, being an invalid, is rather short-tempered at times, but he's the best of employers. I'm telling you this because I don't want you to be prejudiced against the position by anything that man may have said. Chauffeurs, satisfactory ones, aren't easy to find these days, as you know."

I thought of the many that had passed through my hands, and I silently agreed with her.

"You will take all your orders virtually from me," she continued, "and if you do your work as it should be done, you won't find me a hard mistress to serve. Jules lost his position through drink, and I'm pleased to know you're a strict total abstainer."

I was filled with some inward confusion, and repressed a strong desire to laugh.

"The abuse of alcohol causes at least half the misery in the world," she went on, "and I must say it speaks well for a young man of your years that you've the sense to recognize that fact." As I was at least five years her senior, it was very refreshing to listen to this motherly advice.

There followed a period of silence, during which I sensed her stealing more than one glance at me. Many people have looked at me in that stealthy manner, my appearance meriting more than a cursory glance, but I felt that something was troubling her. I was right.

"I think, Peter, that I've seen you somewhere before," she remarked suddenly.

"Indeed, ma'am?"

"Yes, indeed, Peter. I don't know when or where, but I'm quite sure about it. Your face has puzzled me----"

"It has puzzled more than you, ma'am, in its day. It has even puzzled _me_."

"I don't understand you, Peter; you appear to have a gift for cryptic expressions. But I mean your face is not one to forget----"

"It is not, ma'am," I agreed, "I've tried it and failed. It is like that; you simply can't forget it. I'm puzzled at times to know if it really is a face. I know exactly what you mean, ma'am."

"You don't, not in the least," she said with asperity. "If I thought there was anything remarkably ugly about you, I shouldn't have mentioned it. However, I'm not in the habit of discussing--but I _have_ seen you somewhere. I know I have."

"Perhaps it was at the British bulldog show, ma'am. I was there once, with my boss, and a near-sighted old judge tried to give me first prize. Honestly."

"I'm not in the mood for such attempted humor. A thing like this annoys me, not being able to remember. Stop the car!" she finished peremptorily.

I threw out the clutch and clapped on the brakes. Turning in her seat, she faced me with eyes hardening from suspicion to certainty. "You're the man we nearly ran over last night!" she exclaimed. "Don't attempt to deny it, for you are! I _knew_ I had seen you before."

I realized that, unfortunately, prevarication was useless. All my great gifts in that direction would be wasted here. This little person was not merely ornamental; she had brains, and knew how to use them. A tongue, too, by the way.

"Last night, ma'am?" I said vaguely. "Nearly run over, you say?"

"Yes, I say it, and you know it."

"I--I must confess I haven't a very clear recollection of what happened last night," I murmured contritely.

"Then I shall tell you; you were drunk!"

"Drunk! You astonish me, ma'am. You do indeed. Is--is it possible?"

"Yes, it is possible, probable, and a fact. You were disgracefully, hopelessly, drunk! You needn't sit there and pretend you know nothing about it. And Mr. Fremstad assured my uncle that you were a teetotaler! What have you to say to that?"

Having nothing to say, I did not say it. I hung my head instead.

Her eyes were contemptuous, her mouth as stern as its lines permitted. She was very angry and put out. Often I had felt the same way on discovering a jewel of a servant to be the customary paste. I felt sorry for her; I yearned to comfort her, to assure her--quite untruthfully--that I had never been drunk before.

"You chauffeurs are all alike!" she exclaimed. "If it isn't one thing it's another. And the more satisfactory you seem, the worse you are. And so you deceived Mr. Fremstad and hoped to deceive us? Of course, it's quite impossible to engage you. I understand now why your trunk went astray. Well, you had better go and look for it. I can take the car home myself."

I was starting obediently to climb past the wheel when she demanded: "Where are you going now? Sit down, please. Why don't you say something?"

"W-what should I say, madam?"

"Oh, don't be stupid. Haven't you any explanation how you came to be in such a disgraceful condition? Or am I to infer it's your usual condition? I am not a narrow-minded person, and I quite understand that one unfortunate action doesn't necessarily condemn any one. I can even believe it was your first offense. But I am clearly entitled to an explanation of some sort."

"Well, ma'am, you see it was this way," I began, with proper confusion. "The Benevolent Brotherhood of Motor Mechanics gave their annual outing yesterday. It was very hot, as you recollect, and there was a lot of drinks going round. I was very thirsty----"

"Up to a certain point, I suppose? I can imagine the rest. But how did you happen to be in this neighborhood last night? How did you come to leave Philadelphia?"

"I made a fool of myself, ma'am, and got all muddled up. I got mixed on my dates. I thought I had to come here last night, instead of to-day. I got off at Sea Bright and became lost. You know how it is when you've taken too much----"

"No, I don't know anything of the kind. But you told us you wanted to find New York."

"Did I, really, ma'am? It just shows what a fool I was. I'm sure I meant the Rumson Road. The truth is, I wasn't accountable for what I said."

"I quite realize that. You even imagined the appointment you had to keep was attendance at your own funeral. Where did you spend the night?"

"At a small farm near the station owned by a man called Taylor." And I told of my assault and robbery, approximately the same version I had given Taylor.

She looked at me steadily for a long moment as I finished: "It was a very disgraceful and humiliating experience, ma'am, which I've taken greatly to heart."

"I'm sure you have, Peter," she said kindly. "I can see that you're not the drinking sort, and that this has been your first slip. Now, see here, if my uncle knew you for the person he met last night, you wouldn't have a chance of retaining the situation. But I know he won't recognize you, for his eyes are nothing like mine." Assuredly they were not. "You saved me from an unpleasant scene back there, and I'm willing to stretch a point in your favor. I shall say nothing to my uncle, but only on one condition--that, while in our employment, you never touch intoxicants of any kind again. I don't ask you to sign the pledge or anything like that. I ask simply for your promise."

And so, in this strange fashion, I came to utter a challenge toward one John Barleycorn, an enemy whose increasing dominion over me I recognized only too well. How most of my friends would have laughed! But it was a promise I gave in all sincerity.