My Friend the ChauffeurWilliamson, C. N. (Charles Norris)
General
My Friend the Chauffeur
Williamson, C. N. (Charles Norris)
Automobiles -- Fiction; Europe -- Fiction; Voyages and travels -- Fiction
We left him hammering, and looking radiantly happy, which was more than
we were as we wandered back to the arcaded town and our hotel; but we
felt obliged to live up to the reputation Mr. Barrymore had just given
us.
Somehow, the Ten of Clubs and his assistant cards (there were no
chambermaids) had contrived to make a fire that didn't smoke, and the
bed linen looked clean, though coarse. Dinner--which we ate with our
feet on boards under the table, to keep them off the cold stone
floor--was astonishingly good, and we quite enjoyed grating cheese into
our soup on a funny little grater with which each one of us was
supplied. We had a delicious red wine with a little sparkle in it,
called Nebiolo, which Sir Ralph ordered because he thought we would like
it; and when we had finished dining, Mamma felt so much encouraged that
she spoke quite cheerfully of the coming night.
We went to our room early, as we were to start at eight next day, and
try to get on to Pavia and Milan. We had said nothing to the Prince
about the water-wheel, as it was not our affair to get Joseph into
trouble with his master; and I'm afraid that all of us except Mamma
derived a sinful amusement from the thought of His Highness's surprise
in the morning, at Alessandria or elsewhere. Even Maida's eyes twinkled
naughtily as he bade us "_au revoir_, till our start," kissing Mamma's
hand, and saying nothing of his night plans.
"I wonder, if we _could_ go to bed, after all?" soliloquized Mamma,
looking wistfully at the hard pillows and the red-cased down coverlets,
when we were in our room. "What was that Mr. Terrymore said about
warming-pans? I should have thought they were obsolete, except to hang
up on parlour walls."
"I should think nothing that was in use six hundred years ago, was
obsolete in an Italian town like this," said I. "Anyhow, I'll ring and
see."
I did ring, but nobody answered, of course, and I had to yell over the
top of the stairs for five minutes, when the Ten of Clubs appeared,
looking much injured, having evidently believed that he was rid of us
for the night.
He almost wept in his earnest endeavours to assure us that the bedding
was as dry and warm as the down on a swan's breast; but when Maida
insisted on warming-pans, he admitted that they existed in the house.
We were sleepy, but having ordered warming-pans which might stalk in at
any moment, we could not well begin to undress until they had been
produced and manipulated. We waited an hour, until we were nodding in
our chairs, and all started from a troubled doze at the sound of loud
knocking at the door.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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