Motor Maid , livre ebook

Pub One Info - Norris Williamson Charles

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142 pages

English

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One hears of people whose hair turned white in a single night. Last night I thought mine was turning. I had a creepy feeling in the roots, which seemed to crawl all the way down inside each separate hair, wriggling as it went. I suppose you couldn't have nervous prostration of the hair? I worried dreadfully, it kept on so long; and my hair is so fair it would be almost a temptation for it, in an emergency, to take the one short step from gold to silver. I didn't dare switch on the light in the wagon-lit and peep at my pocket-book mirror (which reflects one's features in sections of a square inch, giving the survey of one's whole face quite a panorama effect) for fear I might wake up the Bull Dog.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819901563
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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CHAPTER I
O ne hears ofpeople whose hair turned white in a single night. Last night Ithought mine was turning. I had a creepy feeling in the roots,which seemed to crawl all the way down inside each separate hair,wriggling as it went. I suppose you couldn't have nervousprostration of the hair? I worried dreadfully, it kept on so long;and my hair is so fair it would be almost a temptation for it, inan emergency, to take the one short step from gold to silver. Ididn't dare switch on the light in the wagon-lit and peep atmy pocket-book mirror (which reflects one's features in sections ofa square inch, giving the survey of one's whole face quite apanorama effect) for fear I might wake up the Bull Dog.
I've spelt him with capitals, after maturedeliberation, because it would be nothing less than lèsemajesté to fob him off with little letters about the size ofhis two lower eye-tusks, or chin-molars, or whatever one ought tocall them.
He was on the floor, you see, keeping guard over hismistress's shoes; and he might have been misguided enough to thinkI had designs on them – though what I could have used them for,unless I'd been going to Venice and wanting a private team ofgondolas, I can't imagine.
I being in the upper berth, you might (if you hadn'tseen him) have fancied me safe; but already he had once paddedhalf-way up the step-ladder, and sniffed at me speculatively, as ifI were a piece of meat on the top shelf of a larder; and ifhalf-way up, why not all the way up? Il était capable dutout.
I tried to distract my mind and focus it hard onother things, as Christian Scientists tell you to do when you havea pin sticking into your body for which les convenances forbid you to make an exhaustive search.
I lay on my back with my eyes shut, trying not tohear any of the sounds in the wagon-lit (and they were notconfined to the snoring of His Majesty), thinking desperately. "Iwill concentrate all my mentality," said I to myself, "on thoughtsbeginning with P, for instance. My Past. Paris. Pamela."
Just for a few minutes it was comparatively easy."Dear Past!" I sighed, with a great sigh which for divers reasons Iwas sure couldn't be heard beyond my own berth. (And though I tryalways even to think in English, I find sometimes that thewords group themselves in my head in the old patterns – accordingto French idioms.) "Dear Past, how thou wert kind and sweet! How itis brutalizing to turn my back upon thee and thy charms forever!""Oh, my goodness, I shall certainly die!" squeaked a voice in theberth underneath; and then there was a sound of wallowing.
She (my stable-companion, shall I call her?) hadbeen giving vent to all sorts of strange noises at intervals, for along time, so that it would have been hopeless to try and drown mysorrows in sleep.
Away went the Gentle Past with a bump, as if it hadknocked against a snag in the current of my thoughts.
Paris or Pamela instead, then! or both together,since they seem inseparable, even when Pamela is at her mostAmerican, and tells me to "talk United States."
It was all natural to think of Pamela, because itwas she who gave me the ticket for the train de luxe , and myberth in the wagon-lit . If it hadn't been for Pamela Ishould at this moment have been crawling slowly, cheaply, downRiviera-ward in a second-class train, sitting bolt upright in asecond-class carriage with smudges on my nose, while perhaps somesecond-class child shed jammy crumbs on my frock, and itssecond-class baby sister howled. "Oh, why did I leave my peacefulhome?" wailed the lady in the lower berth.
Heaven alone (unless it were the dog) knew why shehad, and knew how heartily I wished she hadn't. A good thingCerberus was on guard, or I might have dropped a pillowaccidentally on her head!
Just then I wasn't thanking Pamela for hergenerosity. The second-class baby's mamma would have given it abottle to keep it still; but there was nothing I could give the fatold lady; and she had already resorted to the bottle (something inthe way of patent medicine) without any good result. Yet, was there nothing I could give her? "Oh, I'm dying, I know I'm dying, and nobody cares! I shall choke to death!"she gurgled.
It was too much. I could stand it and the terribleatmosphere no longer. I suppose, if I had been an early Christianmartyr, waiting for my turn to be devoured might have so got on mynerves eventually that I would have thrown myself into the arenaout of sheer spite at the lions, and then tried my best to disagreewith them.
Anyway, Bull Dog or no Bull Dog, having made alight, I slid down from my berth – no thanks to the step-ladder –dangled a few wild seconds in the air, and then offering – yes,offering my stockinged feet to the Minotaur, I poked my head intothe lower berth. "What are you going to do?" gasped its occupant, la grosse femme whose fault it would be if my hair didchange from the gold of a louis to the silver of a mere franc. "Yousay you're stifling," I reminded her, politely but firmly, and mytone was like the lull before a storm. "Yes, but – – " We werestaring into each other's eyes, and – could I believe my sense oftouch, or was it mercifully blunted? It seemed that the monster onthe floor was gently licking my toes with a tongue like a hugeslice of pink ham, instead of chewing them to the bone. But thereare creatures which do that to their victims, I've heard, by way ofmaking it easier to swallow them, later. "You also said no onecared," I went on, courageously. " I care – for myself aswell as for you. As for what I'm going to do – I'm going to doseveral things. First, open the window, and then – then I'mgoing to undress you ." "You must be mad!" gasped the lady, whowas English. Oh, but more English than any one else I ever saw inmy life. "Not yet," said I, as I darted at the thick blind she haddrawn down over the window, and let it fly up with a snap. I thenopened the window itself, a few inches, and in floated a perfumedbreath of the soft April air for which our bereaved lungs had beenlonging. The breeze fluttered round my head like a benedictionuntil I felt that the ebbing tide of gold had turned, and wasflowing into my back hair again. "No wonder you're dying, madam," Iexclaimed, switching the heat-lever to "Froid." "So was I, butbeing merely an Upper Berth, with no rights, I was suffering insilence. I watched you turn the heat full on, and shut the windowtight. I saw you go to bed in all your clothes, which lookedterribly thick, and cover yourself up with both your blankets; butI said nothing, because you were a Lower Berth, and older than Iam. I thought maybe you wanted a Turkish Bath. But since youdon't – I'll try and save you from apoplexy, if it isn't toolate."
I fumbled with brooches and buttons, with hooks andeyes. It was even worse than I'd supposed. The creature'sconception of a travelling costume en route for the South ofFrance consisted of a heavy tweed dress, two gray knittedstay-bodices, one pink Jaeger chemise, and a couple of red flannelpetticoats. My investigations went no further; but, encouraged inmy rescue work by spasmodic gestures on the part of the patient,and forbearance on the part of the dog, I removed severalsuperfluous layers of wool. One blanket went to the floor, where itwas accepted in the light of a gift by His Majesty, and the otherwas returned to its owner. "Now are you better, madam?" I asked,panting with long and well-earned breaths. She reposed on an elbow,gazing up at me as at a surgeon who has performed a painful butsuccessful operation; and she was an object pour faire rire ,the poor lady!
She wore an old-fashioned false front of hair,"sunning over with curls" (brown ones, of a brown never seen onland or sea), and a pair of spectacles, pushed up in anabsent-minded moment, were entangled in its waves. Her face, whichwas large, with a knot of tiny features in the middle, shone redwith heat and excitement. She would have had the look of an elderlychild, if it hadn't been for her bright, shrewd little eyes, whichtwinkled observantly – and might sparkle with temper. Nobody whowas not rich and important would dare to dress as badly as she did.Altogether she was a figure of fun. Indeed, I couldn't help feelingwhat quaint mantelpiece ornaments she and her dog would make. Yet,for some reason, I didn't feel inclined to laugh, and I eyed her assolemnly as she eyed me. As for His Majesty, I began to see that Ihad misunderstood him. After all, he had never, from the first,regarded me as an eatable. "Yes, I am better," replied HisMajesty's mistress. "People have always told me it came ontreacherously cold at night in France, so I prepared accordingly. Isuppose I ought to thank you. In fact, I do thank you." "I actedfor myself as much as for you," I confessed. "It was so hot, andyou were suffering out loud." "I have never travelled at nightbefore," the lady defended herself. "Indeed, I've made a point oftravelling as little as possible, except by carriage. I don'tconsider trains a means of conveyance for gentlefolk. They seemwell enough for cattle who may not mind being herded together." "Orfor dogs," I suggested. "Nothing is too good for Beau – my only Beau!" (at this I did not wonder). "But I wouldn't havemoved without him. He's as necessary to me as my conscience. I wasafraid the guard was going to make a fuss about him, which wouldhave been awkward, as I can't speak a word of French, or any othersilly language into which Latin has degenerated. But luckilyEnglish gold doesn't need to be translated." "It loses intranslation," said I, amused. I sat down on my bag as I spoke, andtimorously invited Beau (never was name less appropriate) to bepatted. He arose from the blanket and accepted my overtures with anexpression which may have been intended for a smile, or a threat ofthe most appalling character. I have seen such legs as his onold-fashioned silver teapots; and the crook in his tail would havemade it useful as a door-knocker. "I don't think I e