Americans -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
'Sir Archibald,' I said, as soon as I could speak,'I trust that I
never again may have to enter one of those motors. Human life,
especially mine, is too precious to be thrown away in such a fashion.
Another half-hour of it would have killed me outright. Had Mr. MacGill
been alive he would never have consented to my going into it for a
moment. As it is, I can scarcely hear or see owing to the frightful
noises and the rain lashing on my face; every hair on my head feels
pulled the wrong way, and I'm sure I shall have another bad relapse of
influenza by to-morrow morning. Your uncle was a friend of my poor
brother-in-law who died at Agra in a moment, and unless you take a
warning you will have an end quite as sudden and much more frightful,
for his was heart complaint, and you will be smashed to pieces by the
wheels of that hideous machine.'
I left them downstairs and went to bed. Cecilia tried to make me
believe there was nothing wrong with me, as she always does when she
has neuralgia, or _says_ she has neuralgia, herself, but I know that
there is. What is the matter I can't exactly say, only I am certain
that I am going to suffer in some way from this horrible expedition.
SIR ARCHIBALD MAXWELL MACKENZIE
There is something soothing even in hotel tobacco, I suppose, so I was
better, though still feeling decidedly blue, later in the day at
Widdington, when I came up to the inn door and began overhauling the
motor as it stood in the yard. There was nothing particularly cheering
in finding several long cuts in the tires, and I was probing them to
get the grit out, when I heard a little cough behind me. I turned to
see Miss Virginia standing in the doorway, looking at me rather
doubtfully. Now of course I had been rather short, not to say nasty,
but somehow it's a fact that you cannot be sharp with a woman without
at once being put in the wrong, though she may really have been the
sinner all the time. It was Miss Virginia who had brought me out on
this show, who had cost me about forty pounds in tires, and Heaven
knows how much in other ways, but it was I who felt a beast now. Yet
she looked at me in a way which seemed to say she was sorry I was
vexed. She was rubbing her hands together and shivering a little. Of
course she was cold in that ridiculous dress.
'A nice day it has turned out, hasn't it!' I said rather spitefully.
'Oh, I'll never, never ask for a picnic again!' cried she, with a
comical look. She came and began to look at the cuts in the tires
herself.
'Oh, they _are_ bad,' she exclaimed, 'and I suppose you love that old
motor better than anything on earth, don't you?' she inquired.
'I get a good deal more pleasure out of it,' I truthfully replied,
'than I do out of the society of most human beings.' She gave a little
laugh.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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