Obadiah scorched his menial with a look which should have reduced him to a cinder.
Ike shifted uneasily under the unkind gaze of his indignant employer as he waited further interrogation.
“How fast were you running?” Obadiah’s tone was as warm as his aspect.
Ike deemed it advisable at this point to make his statements general. “Ah drives cafful. Safety furst, dat’s ma motta.”
“I have heard that nonsense of yours before. What I want to know,” Obadiah bleated in a high falsetto, “is, how fast were you going?”
Again, Ike turned to the skies. Suddenly came a change. His doubtful demeanor disappeared. He met the stern countenance of his employer with a glad smile of confidence and assurance. To him, in the hour of need, had been vouchsafed a solution of his problem. “Miss Sereny,” he explained, with great satisfaction, “she done tell me not to drive no fas’er den er hoss an’ ker’idge kin go. Dat’s jes how fas’ ah goes.”
Obadiah leaped into his car and slammed the door. “Take me to my office,” he blazed.
Ike obeyed him, running, it may be noted, at a speed well above that usually attained by the horses and carriages of Serena’s fond remembrance.
Obadiah entered his office yet much irritated by the recent examination of his chauffeur. “Jones,” he shouted peevishly.
“At your service, Sir,” responded the ever courteous private secretary, ceasing his social plannings for the House of Dale, hurriedly, and leaving the bookkeeper sorely embarrassed in his labors, through the loss of the voucher from which he was working snatched away by Mr. Jones, and borne into the manufacturer’s presence, as proof that his absence was due to zealous watchfulness of his employer’s interests, rather than to personal motives.