Jonah and Co. Yates Dornford

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СКАЧАТЬ my throat was sore.

      The weather was fair and the going was good. Her new-born stiffness beginning to wear off, Pong went better than ever. Berry excelled himself.

      With every kilometre we covered my spirits rose, and when we overtook

       Jonah on the outskirts of Chatellerault, I could have flung up my cap.

      The latter was clearly immensely surprised to see us, and when we stopped, as was our custom, at a charcuterie to buy our lunch, and Ping had followed our example, leaned out of his window and asked me pointedly whether my leg was yet stiff.

      Concealing a smile, I regretted that it was.

      Jonah fingered his chin.

      "Of course," he said warily, "it's a condition precedent that you don't drive to-morrow."

      "Of course," I agreed.

      The confession of uneasiness, however, did my heart good. It was plain that my imperturbable cousin was getting nervous.

      As we moved off again—

      "We must lunch soon," said Berry. "My mouth's watering so fast, I can't keep up with it."

      I patted Adèle's arm.

      "Now you know the way to his heart," I said. "Straight through the stomach, and——"

      "But how gross!" said Berry. "And how untrue! Naturally ascetic, but for the insistence of my physicians, I should long ago have let my hair grow and subsisted entirely on locusts and motionless lemonade. But a harsh Fate ruled otherwise. Excuse me, but I think that that there basket or ark in which the comfort is enshrined is rather near the conduit through which flows that sparkling liquid which, when vapoured, supplies our motive power. And foie gras is notoriously susceptible to the baneful influence of neighbouring perfumes. Thank you. If those bits of heaven were to taste of petrol, it would shorten my life. And now, where was I?"

      I turned to Adèle.

      "He's off," said I. "The prospect of gluttony always loosens his tongue. There's really only one way to stop him. What about lunching at the top of this hill? Or can you bear it till we've passed Poitiers?"

      A mischievous look came into Adèle's brown eyes.

      "It's not half-past twelve yet," she said slowly. My brother-in-law groaned. "Still … I don't know. … After all, we did have breakfast rather early, didn't we?"

      Berry smacked his lips.

      "A sensible woman," he said, "is above boobies."

      As he spoke, Ping swept by stormily.

      There was a moment's silence. Then—

      "Hurray," cried Adèle excitedly; "we've got a rise!"

      It was patently true. Jonah was wishful to reassure himself upon a point which an hour ago he had taken for granted. The reflection that at the moment we had not been trying to outdistance him increased our delight. All the same, his ability to out-drive us was unquestionable. But whether he could give us the start he had agreed to was another matter.

      We ate a festive lunch. …

      An hour with Poitiers is like a sip of old wine.

      The absence of the stir and bustle which fret her sister capitals is notable. So reverend and thoughtful is the old grey-muzzled town that it is hard to recognise the bristling war-dog that bestrode the toughest centuries, snarled in the face of Fate, and pulled down Time. The old soldier has got him a cassock and become a gentle-faced dominie. The sleepy music of bells calling, the pensive air of study, the odour of simple piety, the sober confidence of great possessions, are most impressive. Poitiers has beaten her swords into crosiers and her spears into tuning-forks. Never was there an old age so ripe, so mellow, so becoming. With this for evidence, you may look History in the eyes and swear that you have seen Poitiers in the prime of her full life. The dead will turn in their graves to hear you; children unborn will say you knew no better. And Poitiers will take the threefold compliment with a grave smile. She has heard it so often.

      Celt, Roman, Visigoth, Moor, Englishman—all these have held Poitiers in turn. Proud of their tenure, lest History should forget, three at least of them have set up their boasts in stone. The place was, I imagine, a favourite. Kings used her, certainly. Dread Harry Plantagenet gave her a proud cathedral. Among her orchards Coeur de Lion worshipped Jehane, jousted, sang of a summer evening, and spent his happiest days. Beneath her shadow the Black Prince lighted such a candle of Chivalry as has never yet been put out. Not without honour of her own countrymen, for thirteen years the High Court of Parliament preferred her to Paris. Within her walls the sainted Joan argued her inspiration.

      I have dived at random into her wallet, yet see what I have brought forth. If memories are precious, Poitiers is uncommon rich.

      As if to console us for our departure, the road to Sister Angoulême was superb. Broad, straight, smooth as any floor, the great highway stretched like a strip of marquetry inlaid upon the countryside. Its invitation was irresistible. …

      We reached the windy town in time for a late tea.

      As soon as this was over, Berry and I escaped and carried Pong off to a garage, there to be oiled and greased against the morrow's race. Somewhat to our amusement, before we had been there ten minutes, our cousin arrived with Ping and the same object. Had the incident occurred at Poitiers, I should have been encouraged as well. It was another sign that Jonah did not despise his opponents, and his opinion was worth having. As it was, the compliment left me unmoved. …

      The truth was, Berry had that afternoon contracted two habits. Again and again on the way from Poitiers he had shown a marked tendency to choke his engine, and five times he had failed to mesh the gears when changing speed. Twice we had had to stop altogether and start again. He had, of course, reproached himself violently, and I had made light of the matter. But, for all the comfort I offered him, I was seriously alarmed. In a word, his sudden lapse suggested that my brother-in-law was entering that most unpleasant stage which must be traversed by all who will become chauffeurs and are taught, so to speak, to run before they can walk.

      It was after we had dined, and when my wife and I were seated—myself, by virtue of my injury, upon a couch, and she upon a cushion beside me—before the comfort of a glowing log-fire, that Adèle laid down the Guide and leaned her head against my knee.

      "I'm glad I married you," she said.

      I looked at Nobby.

      "So are we both," said I.

      "I wonder," said Adèle, "whether you are really, or whether you're just being nice."

      "Personally, I'm just being nice. Nobby is really. Of course, he may be making the best of a bad job. As a worldly good of mine, I just endowed you with him, and that was that."

      "You were both very happy before—before I came."

      "We thought we were."

      "O-o-oh," said Adèle, twisting her head around, to see my face. "You were. You know you were."

      The gleeful accusation of the soft brown eyes was irresistible. СКАЧАТЬ