§ 7
He had nearly covered the two sheets when the rattle of a car sounded in the drive below. He looked up eagerly and went to the window, but it was only Gervase lurching over the ruts in the Ford, just scraping past the wall as he swung round outside the house, just avoiding a collision with an outstanding poplar, after the usual manner of his driving.
The next minute he was in the office.
“Hullo! They told me you were over here. I’ve just fetched my luggage from Robertsbridge.”
He sat down on the writing-table and lit a cigarette. Peter hastily covered up his letter. Why did Gervase come bothering him now?
“I wanted to speak to you,” continued his brother. “You’ll be the best one to back me up against Father.”
“What is it now?” asked Peter discouragingly.
“An idea came to me while I was driving over. I often get ideas when I drive, and this struck me as rather a good one. I think it would be just waste for me to go to a crammer’s and then to Oxford. I don’t want to go in for the church or the bar or schoolmastering or anything like that, and I don’t see why the family should drop thousands on my education just because I happen to be an Alard. I want to go in for engineering in some way and you don’t need any ’Varsity for that. I could go into some sort of a shop....”
“Well, if the way you drive a car is any indication——”
“I can drive perfectly well when I think about it. Besides, that won’t be my job. I want to learn something in the way of construction and all that. I always was keen, and it strikes me now that I’d much better go in for that sort of thing than something which won’t pay for years. There may be some sort of a premium to fork out, but it’ll be nothing compared to what it would cost to send me to Oxford.”
“You talk as if we were paupers,” growled Peter.
“Well, so we are, aren’t we?” said Gervase brightly. “Jenny was talking to me about it last night. She says we pay thousands a year in interest on mortgages, and as for paying them off and selling the land, which is the only thing that can help us....”
“I don’t see that it’s your job, anyway.”
“But I could help. Really it seems a silly waste to send me to Oxford when I don’t want to go.”
“You need Oxford more than any man I know. If you went there you might pick up some notions of what’s done, and get more like other people.”
“I shouldn’t get more like other people, only more like other Oxford men.”
Peter scowled. He intensely disapproved of the kid’s verbal nimbleness, which his more weighty, more reputable argument could only lumber after.
“You’ve got to remember you’re a gentleman’s son,” he remarked in a voice which suggested sitting down just as Gervase’s had suggested a skip and a jump.
“Well, lots of them go in for engineering. We’re in such a groove. I daresay you think this is just a sudden idea of mine——”
“You’ve just told me it is.”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking for ages that I didn’t want to go to Oxford. If I took up engineering I could go into a shop at Ashford.... But I’ll have to talk to Father about it. I expect he’ll be frightfully upset—the only Alard who hasn’t been to the Varsity and all that ... but, on the other hand, he’s never bothered about me so much as about you and George, because there’s no chance of my coming into the estate.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” gibed Peter.
“Yes, of course, you might both die just to spite me—but it wouldn’t be sporting of you. I don’t want to be Sir Gervase Alard, Bart.—I’d much rather be Alard and Co., Motor-engineers.”
“You damn well shan’t be that.”
“Well, it’s a long time ahead, anyway. But do back me up against Father about not going to Oxford. It really ought to help us a lot if I don’t go—a son at the ’Varsity’s a dreadful expense, and when that son’s me, it’s a waste into the bargain.”
“Well, I’ll see about it. My idea is that you need Oxford more than—hullo, who’s that?”
“Dr. Mount,” said Gervase looking out of the window.
Peter rose and looked out too, in time to see the doctor’s car turning in the sweep. This morning he himself was not at the wheel, but was driven by what looked like a warm bundle of furs with a pair of bright eyes looking out between collar and cap.
Peter opened the window.
“Stella!” he cried.