The Chauffeur and the Chaperon. C. N. Williamson
Читать онлайн книгу.
But——"
"Didn't you know it was the same thing? Where's your knowledge of history?"
"I never had much time to study American history. There was such a lot that came before," said Phil, mildly; but the blood sprang to her cheeks at the sound of a step on the stairs. Our rival for possession of the boat had come back alone.
"That old rascal has, with extraordinary suddenness and opportuneness, forgotten every word of English," he announced, "and pretends not to understand German. I can't speak Dutch; can you?"
"No," said I. "Not a syllable. But he spoke English quite respectably an hour ago."
"That was before he was found out. He can now do nothing but shake his head and say 'niets verstaen,' or something that sounds like that. I thought of killing him, but concluded it would be better to wait until I'd asked you how you'd like it done."
"It ought to be something lingering," said I. "We'll talk it over. But first, perhaps, we'd better decide what's to be done with ourselves. You see, we've come to Holland to have a cruise on our new boat; otherwise, if you liked, we, as the real owners, might let her to you, and all would be well. Still, it does seem a shame that you should be disappointed when you took 'Lorelei' in good faith, and made her so pretty. Of course, you must let us know what you've paid——"
"A few gulden," said the young man, evasively.
"Never mind. You must tell how many. Unfortunately that won't mend your disappointment. But—what can we do?"
"I suppose there isn't the slightest hope that you could—er—take me as a passenger?"
"Oh, we couldn't possibly do that," hastily exclaimed Phil. "We're alone. Though my stepsister, Miss Van Buren, has cousins in Rotterdam, we've come from England without a chaperon, and—for the present——"
The young man's eyes were more brilliant than ever, though the rest of his face looked sad.
"Oh, don't say any more," he implored. "I see how it is. I oughtn't to have made such a suggestion. My only excuse is, I was thinking—of my poor aunt. She'll be horribly disappointed. I care most for her, and what she'll feel at giving up the cruise."
"Oh, was your aunt coming?" I asked.
"Yes, my Scotch aunt. Such a charming woman. I'm an American, you know. Clever of me to have a Scotch aunt, but I have. I've been visiting her lately, near Edinburgh. You would like Lady MacNairne, I think."
Phil's face changed. She is the last girl in the world to be a snob; but hearing that this young man had a Scotch aunt, with a title, was almost as good as a proper introduction. And there really is something singularly winning about my countryman. I suppose it is that he has "a way with him," as the Irish say. Besides, it seemed nice of so young a man to care so much about a mere aunt. Many young men despise aunts as companions; but evidently he isn't one of those, as he beautified "Lorelei" simply to give his aunt pleasure.
"It really does seem hard," I said. "Now, if only Phyllis hadn't so many rules of propriety—" But, to my surprise, the very thought in my mind, which I hadn't dared breathe, was spoken out next minute by Phil herself.
"Maybe we might come to some kind of arrangement—as you have an aunt," she faltered.
"Yes, as you have an aunt," I repeated.
"She'd make an ideal chaperon for young ladies," hastily went on the Southerner. "I should like you to meet her."
"Is Lady MacNairne in Rotterdam?" asked Phil.
"Not exactly; but she's coming—almost at once."
"We don't know your name yet," said Phyllis. "I'm Miss Rivers; my stepsister is Miss Van Buren. Perhaps you'd better introduce yourself."
"I shall be glad to," returned my countryman. "My name is Ronald Lester Starr——"
"Why, the initials are just right—R. L. S." I murmured.
"I know what you mean," he said, with a nice smile. "They say I look like him. I'm very proud. You'll think I ought to be a writer; but I'm not. I paint a little—just enough to call myself an artist——"
"Oh, I remember," I broke in. "I thought the name sounded familiar. You had a picture in the Salon this spring."
He looked anxious. "Did you see it?"
"No—not even a copy. What was the subject? Horrid of me to ask; but, you see, it's July now, and one forgets."
"One does," he admitted, as if he were pleased. "Oh, it was only a portrait of my aunt."
"Your Scotch aunt?"
"Yes. But if you'd seen it, and then should see her, you mightn't even recognize her. I—er—didn't try to make a striking likeness."
"I wish I'd seen the picture," said I. And I thought Mr. Starr must be very modest, for his expression suggested that he didn't echo my wish.
"Do you think you could let my aunt and me join you?" he asked. "I don't mean to crowd up your boat; that would never do, for you might want to sleep on it sometimes. But I might get a barge, and you could tow it. I'd thought of that very thing; indeed, I've practically engaged a barge. My friend and I, who were to have chummed together, if he hadn't been called away—oh, you know, that was a plan before my aunt promised to come, quite another idea. But what I mean to say is, I got an idea for hiring a barge, and having it towed by the motor-boat. I could have had a studio in that way, for I wanted to do some painting. I'd just come back from seeing rather a jolly barge that's to let, when I—er—stumbled on you."
"Had you engaged any one to work 'Lorelei'?"
"A chauffeur," said Mr. Ronald; "but no skipper for certain yet. I've been negotiating."
"Dear me!" I exclaimed. "Must we have a chauffeur and a skipper too?"
"I'm afraid we must; a man who understands the waterways of Holland. A chauffeur understands only the motor, and lucky if he does that."
"Won't it be dreadfully expensive?" asked Phyllis.
"The skipper's wages won't be more than five or six dollars (a bit more than one of your sovereigns) a week, and the chauffeur less. They'll keep themselves, but I meant them to sleep on the barge. The skipper ought to be a smart chap, who can be trusted with money to pay the expenses of the boat as one goes along—bridge-money and all sorts of things. The chauffeur can buy the essence—petrol, you call it in England, don't you?—but the skipper had better do the rest."
"It does seem a frightful responsibility for two girls," said Phyllis.
"Of course, if you'd consent to have my aunt—and me—we'd take all the trouble off your hands, and half the expense," remarked Mr. Starr. "My poor aunt is so fond of the water, and there's so little in Scotland——"
"Little in Scotland?"
"Well, only a few lakes and rivers. It does seem hard she should be disappointed."
"She mightn't like us," said Phyllis.
"She would lo—I mean, she'd be no aunt of mine if she didn't. I'd cut her off with a penny."
"It's generally aunts who do that with their nephews," said I.
"Ah, but she's different from other aunts, and I'm different from other nephews. May I telegraph that she's to come?"
"I thought she was coming."
"I mean, may I telegraph that she's to be a chaperon? I ought to let her know. She might—er—want more dresses or bonnets, or something."
Phil and I laughed, and so did Mr. Starr. After that, of course, we couldn't be stony-hearted; besides, we didn't want to be. I could see that, even to Phil, the thought of a cruise taken in the company of our new friend and that ideal chaperon, his aunt, Lady MacNairne, had attractions which the idea of a cruise