Mr. Masham ordered for himself a large whisky and a very small soda; indeed, the soda water in his glass was a negligible quantity.
“I don’t drink much—but I take it strong,” he remarked as he gulped it down, “and I never smoke—bad for the nerves;” and then he began to discourse of motors and the class and style he believed in. He believed in single-cylinder machines, a short wheel base, wide handle-bars, and a large petrol tank. He did not believe in the aeroplane craze, and, indeed, became both hot and excited when Wynyard introduced the subject.
“Madness! Wild goose business! Can come to nothing—look at the accidents! Stick to Mother Earth, I say! I’m an earth man—a motor man. The sea for fish, the sky for birds, earth for humans. I bar both air and sea.”
After a few minor arrangements, Wynyard took leave of Mr. Masham, went in search of his friend, and informed him that all was fixed up; he had accepted the post of companion-chauffeur to the celebrated Harry Masham, and was about to tender his resignation to the equally celebrated Tottie Toye.
During Lady Kesters’ stay in the United States, she had kept up a brisk correspondence with her brother, and written long and enthusiastic descriptions of her impressions of New York, Washington, and Boston; for his part, he had sent her somewhat scanty news. The following, is one of his longest letters:—
“Dear Leila,—I am still with Miss T. Toye, and giving (I hope) satisfaction and saving hand over fist. I can’t say, however, that the berth is congenial. I am kept pretty busy, taking Tottie to the theatre, fetching her home, motoring her about town to shops and restaurants, and dashing into the country for weekends. In Town, I wear my goggles as much as possible. I tell her my eyes are weak—I dare say she doesn’t believe me! I’m not proud, but I don’t want my old friends to spot me as Tottie’s chauffeur. The other day I was in Bond Street in the afternoon, with a car full of a noisy painted crew, and they attracted the attention of no less a person than Uncle Dick. He stared at them, and then at me. I thought he was going to have an apoplectic seizure, and I’m sure he thinks I’ve gone to the devil! Perhaps you’d let him know that I’ve got to live, and Tottie pays well, and her money is as good as another’s. All the same, I am not sure that I can stand her much longer; she and her particular lot are a bit too rowdy. The other night a fellow dared her to kiss me as she got out of the motor, and, by Jove! she did. I was not at all grateful. I was nearly stifled, and I’ve not got the better of her scented embrace yet. She talks of buying another car—price fifteen hundred pounds—simply because Vixie Beaufort has a better one than hers, and she’s not going to be beat. She has a funny way of asking all sorts of people to supper, and is surprised when the crowd turns up; and sometimes she forgets her party altogether, and sups out, then the boot is on the other foot! She plays bridge of a sort, and loses her money (and her temper), and throws the cards at her partner. The frizzy parlour-maid is my informant; she comes down with cloaks and furs, and generally contrives to have a word with me. She says the place is getting too hot, and if I will leave, she will! Think of that! I’m glad to hear such good news of Martin. I expect you will both be home by April, and by that time I should not wonder if I were in another situation. Ryder Street will always find—Your affectionate brother,
“O. W.”
To this he received a long reply from Florida. Martin was better, shares were booming, and The Palm Branch was the most delicious spot on earth. No wonder that Florida boasted the largest hotel in the world; the climate, the tropical flowers and fruit, the bicycling and bathing, and the immense variety of visitors were all a delightful novelty.
She went on to say—