Knight on Wheels

Ian Hay

Description

Young Philip Meldrum lives a somewhat unusual life with his Uncle Joseph, a prominent philanthropist who happens to be highly suspicious of all women and has drilled this mistrust into the mind of his teenage nephew. For the most part, Philip spends his time attending to his uncle's correspondence and indulging his obsession with automobiles. But when he finds himself encountering a girl who doesn't immediately provoke his disgust, Philip begins reconsidering the truth of his uncle's teachings.

Sujets

• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776674879
• Langue: English

Extrait

A KNIGHT ON WHEELS
* * *
IAN HAY
 
*
A Knight on Wheels First published in 1914 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-487-9 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-488-6 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
BOOK ONE - THE MISOGYNISTS Chapter I - Environment Chapter II - Le Premier Pas Chapter III - Samson and Delilah Chapter IV - Heredity Chapter V - Mistaken Identity Chapter VI - Renovare Dolorem Chapter VII - The Inconsistency of Uncle Joseph Chapter VIII - The Hampstead Heath Conspiracy Chapter IX - Genus Irritabile Chapter X - The Eccentric Gentleman Chapter XI - Red Gables Chapter XII - The Official Demise of Tommy Smith BOOK TWO - LABOR OMNIA VINCIT Chapter XIII - The Golden Age Chapter XIV - The Iron Age Chapter XV - Omega, Certainly Not! Chapter XVI - Things Chapter XVII - People Chapter XVIII - My Son Timothy Chapter XIX - Plain Men and Fair Women Chapter XX - The Proving of the Brake BOOK THREE - OMNIA VINCIT! Chapter XXI - The Big Thing Chapter XXII - The Inarticulate Knight Chapter XXIII - Mainly Commercial Chapter XXIV - La Belle Dame Sans Merci Chapter XXV - Confessional—Masculine and Feminine Chapter XXVI - The Rivals Chapter XXVII - The Second Best Chapter XXVIII - A Brand from the Burning Chapter XXIX - The First Epistle of Theophilus Chapter XXX - The Silent Knight Chapter XXXI - The Eleventh Hour
*
TO H. M. S.
BOOK ONE - THE MISOGYNISTS
*
Chapter I - Environment
*
THURSDAY morning was always an interesting time for Philip, for it wason that day that he received letters from ladies.
On Mondays he used to write to them, from the dictation of Uncle Joseph.On Tuesdays he had an easy time of it, for Uncle Joseph was away allday, interviewing East End vicars, and Salvation Army officials, andeditors of newspapers which made a speciality of discriminating betweengenuine and bogus charities. Uncle Joseph was a well-known figure in thephilanthropic world,—that part of it which works without limelight andspends every penny it receives upon relieving distress, and knowsnothing of Charity Balls and Grand Bazaars, with their incidentalexpenses and middlemen's profits,—and it was said that no deservingcase was ever brought to his notice in vain. He would serve on nocommittees, and his name figured on no subscription list; but you couldbe quite certain that when Uncle Joseph wrote a cheque that chequerelieved a real want; for he had an infallible nose for an impostor anda most uncanny acquaintance with the habits and customs of the great andprosperous brotherhood of professional beggars.
Hard-worked curates and overdriven doctors, who called—and never invain—at the snug but unpretentious house in Hampstead on behalf of someurgent case, sometimes wondered, as they walked away with a light heartand a heavy pocket, what Uncle Joseph was worth; for it was said bythose who were supposed to know that his benefactions ran into fourfigures annually. As a matter of fact his income from all sources wasexactly seven hundred and fifty pounds a year, and none of this wasspent on charity.
Uncle Joseph had one peculiarity. He transacted no business with thefemale sex. If help was required of him, application must be made by aman.
On Wednesdays Philip wrote—or more usually typed—more letters, butnone to ladies. On this day he addressed himself to gentlemen, terselyinforming such that if they made search in the envelope they would finda cheque enclosed, "in aid of the most excellent object mentioned inyour letter," which it would be a kindness to acknowledge in due course.Uncle Joseph used to sign these.
This brings us round to Thursday again; and, as already indicated, thiswas Philip's field day. On Thursday morning one James Nimmo, thefactotum of the establishment, used to arrive shortly after breakfast ina cab, from an excursion into regions unknown, with quite a budget ofletters. They were all from ladies, and were replies to Philip's lettersof Monday. Most of them contained cheques, chaperoned by lengthyscreeds; some enclosed lengthy screeds but no cheques; while a few,written in a masculine hand, stated briefly that "If my wife is pesteredin this fashion again," Yours Faithfully proposed to communicate withthe police.
Although these letters were all addressed to Philip, Uncle Joseph openedthem himself, ticking off the cheques and postal orders and dictatingthe names and addresses of their senders to Philip, who posted them upin a big book.
On Fridays Philip wrote acknowledging the letters. For a boy of fourteenhe was a very fair stenographer, and could take down the sentencesalmost as quickly as Uncle Joseph could dictate them. His typing, too,was almost first-class, and he possessed the useful, if risky,accomplishment of being able to write two separate and distinct hands.
Saturday was a particularly delightful day, for then Uncle Joseph andPhilip put all business cares behind them and held high revel. Sometimesthey went up the River; sometimes they went to Lords; and sometimes theytook the train into the country and tramped over the Hog's Back or theSouth Downs.
It was upon these occasions that Uncle Joseph would discourse uponWoman, and wonder, with Philip, why she had been sent into the world.
"There appears to be no parallel to the female mind," Uncle Joseph wouldsay, "in any of the works of nature. It seems almost incredible that Godshould invent such a wonderful piece of mechanism as Man—invent him forthe express purpose of controlling and developing this marvellous worldof ours—and then deliberately stultify his own work and handicap hisown beautifully designed and perfectly balanced engines by linking themup with others which are conspicuous for nothing but bias andinstability. What a world this might have been, Philip, if all itsinhabitants had been constructed upon a rational plan, instead of onlyone half! Why is it, I wonder?"
Philip, who could not remember having spoken to a woman for ten years,except once or twice across a counter, would shake his headdespondingly.
"Put it another way," continued Uncle Joseph. "What master-mariner,having set up a carefully designed, perfectly balanced compass upon thebridge of his ship, would then proceed to surround that compass—uponthe steadiness of which the very life of the ship depends—with a casualcollection of bar-magnets or soft iron bolts? What compass could beexpected to point to the Magnetic North for one moment in such a fieldof force? It would not even be a constant field of force; for themagnets would come and go, or at least wax and wane in attractive power,altering the resultant intensity from year to year—from day to day,even. No compass could give a true bearing under such circumstances. Andyet the Supreme Architect of the Universe has done that to us! Hecreates man, and having set him to direct the course of this planet,surrounds him with women! Why, Philip? Why?"
At this Philip would endeavour to look as wise as possible, but oncemore would find himself unable to contribute to the debate.
Uncle Joseph would nod his head.
"Quite right, Philip," he would say. "We don't know why, and we nevershall. All we can do is to bow to God's will, accept the situation, andadopt the best means at our disposal of mitigating our disabilities.There is only one thing to do. What is it, Philip?"
Philip was always quite ready this time.
"Avoid women," he would reply gravely, "at all times and in all places."
After that they would talk about bird-migration, or high-tensionmagnetos—subjects affording easier and more profitable ground forspeculation.
*
On the particular Thursday morning with which we are dealing, Philip andUncle Joseph sat in the library prepared for business. Philip wasinstalled at the broad writing-table, with a reporter's notebook and apencil. Beside him, ready for use, stood the typewriter. Uncle Josephsprawled for the moment in an easy-chair, industriously perusing a copyof the current issue of the "Searchlight," a weekly organ whose editorpossessed an almost indecent acquaintance with the private lives of mostof the rogues and quacks who batten upon the British Public. He evenwent so far as to publish an annual list of their names, aliases, andaddresses. Uncle Joseph had figured therein more than once, but not asUncle Joseph.
There was a knock at the door, and James Nimmo entered, carrying acowhide bag. This he opened, and poured its contents upon thetable—letters of every shape, size, colour, and scent.
"A heavy post this week, James Nimmo," commented Uncle Joseph.
"Mph'm," replied James Nimmo (who was a Scotsman). "Could I get speakingwith you, Colonel?" he added. He called Uncle Joseph "Colonel" becausehe was a colonel.
Uncle Joseph looked up sharply.
"Anything wrong?" he asked.
James Nimmo looked at him, and like the Eldest Oyster, shook his heavyhead. Uncle Joseph rightly took this to be a sign of assent.
"Where?" he asked.
"At Commercial Road." (As a matter of fact James Nimmo said "CommaircialRod," but it will be simpler to transcribe as we go.)
"I expected it," said Uncle Joseph. He held up the "Searchlight." "Thesepeople say they have been making enquiries. Listen."
Do any of my readers happen to know anything of the Reverend Aubrey Buck? He appears to be devoting his undoubted talents to the furtherance of a crusade against what he calls "The Popish Invasion of the English Home"; and to that end he is circularising the country with a passionate appeal for