Part 12

There was something in the man's face that led me to think he could not be an ordinary peasant, and therefore I asked him if he lived there?

"I was born here," he replied, rather defiantly. "But I've been living in Australia for the past seven years, and have now come back to see the old people."

I said to myself that, unlike most Irishmen when they migrate, he had not bettered himself. As if he read my thought, as perhaps he did, he added, with a glance at his old and torn clothing: "I've better clothes than these, but why would I be wearing them to shame the neighbors!"

Could Sir Philip Sidney have said anything finer?

"Well," I said, as I started the motor, "when I next come here you'll have Home Rule!"

At that the man's whole face lighted up, and he cried: "Glory be to God, ye're a prophet! What's your name?" When I answered "Dobson," without a moment's hesitation he exclaimed: "I've heerd of you!"

I laughed and said: "I see you've kissed the Blarney stone yourself."

But there was no jocular reply. The thing was too serious for that. The man was inflamed. Why cannot the English appreciate that the love of nationality is inextinguishable?

The rain began again and fell persistently and we slithered on our way. It's a long lane that has no turning, and this was one, though it did nothing but turn. Always it was leading to the right, though I _felt_ it should lead straight on or else bear to the left.

Finally we came to a highway that somehow looked familiar, and before we had gone a mile farther, I found that we were where we had started from an hour before! There was the wretched hovel where the giant dwelt, and a vigorous shout brought him to the door.

"See here, my friend," I cried, "what did you mean by telling me that that road would lead to Blarney Castle? I have kept on it all the time, and it has brought me back here."

"Now ain't that a shame? I never thought such a thing would happen to you. Now I'll tell you God's truth. You was clean out of your way when you was last here. You ought to have left the road you are on this minute as much as seven miles back. And when you asked me if yonder road would lead to Blarney Castle, and I looked at the lovely face of the lady, and she lookin' tired, too, I hadn't the heart to tell you you must turn back. I thought when you got on this road again ye would have turned the other way, and not have lost so much anyway. And how was I to know you wouldn't meet a man who wouldn't mind telling bad news, and who would set you on your way? But as for me, I hadn't the heart to do it!"

And that's what Ruth calls "lying from a kind heart!" A cynic might suggest that the "lovely lady" had something to do with this charitable if immoral dictum!

Well, there was nothing to do but to turn back and drive for the third time over a road I had come to hate. About seven miles back we found the proper turning, and, after much splashing, came to Blarney Castle.

I did not kiss the stone, for I had no desire to get a water-spout down the back of my neck by leaning out of the window--as you may remember one must do--to perform the feat. Indeed I thought there was force in Lord Chesterfield's advice to his son, when he said he intended to go down into a coal-mine:

"What for?" asked the noble lord.

"Why, to say I have been down one!"

"Why not say it?" he replied.

Indeed I am inclined to think that is what a good many people have done at Blarney!

XXXV

A DAY OF TROUBLE AND DISTRESS

Whether because I did not kiss the Blarney stone, or for some other reason, the next day was one of trouble and distress. Indeed, it came near being our last day. For several days I had noticed that the self-starter was not working well. Several times it had failed to catch and required a good deal of coaxing. I could not understand it, for it was not yet three weeks since I had filled the batteries with water, which, I had been told, was all that was necessary to insure its functioning. I thought that possibly the damp weather had affected the electrical current, and could only hope that with clearing weather there would be no further trouble. But at the next stop the little engine refused to act at all, and I had to unpack the handle and crank, which is an exercise good for neither the back nor the temper!

A little later we came to a road which branched from the highway to the left, and Ruth, who had charge of the map, called out: "To the right." I leave it to you: would not you have thought that meant to _turn_ somewhere? If not, why not say: "Keep straight on." At any rate, I turned sharp into the left-hand road, only to find that we were in a _cul-de-sac_. Turning was impossible, so I kept on, wondering why Ruth, who must have known how tired I was, should have driven me into such a place!

Finally, we came to a gate, and as I did not dare leave the car lest it stall--we were on an incline which tipped the car back and made cranking difficult--I asked Ruth to get out and open the gate. I saw that just beyond there was a place where, with great care the car might be turned, but where the chances of stalling were great. Still, I thought, if I could keep the car going I might manage it. I called to Ruth not to get in and began slowly to turn. The road was just the width of the wheels, with a bog on each side. Looking up I saw a huge dog lying in the way. It was as ugly a looking brute as one would wish to see, even if it was chained. I blew the horn. It did not stir. Then, to my horror, I saw Ruth, who is more afraid of a dog than I am of a cat, which is saying a good deal, seize the brute by the tail and begin to drag it out of the way! I turned sick with terror, and, under the nervous strain, did what I have not done since I was in college--_swore_. "Damnation," I cried, "turn that dog loose!" And Ruth, equally excited, answered in a fine frenzy: "I would pull him if he were a mad bull!"

Fortunately, the dog made no resistance, and the car was safely turned. Had it stalled, I do not know what I should have done, for I was "all in."

One would have thought this was enough for one day, but worse was yet to come. About an hour later we came to a railway crossing. All the level crossings are not on Long Island! There are several in Ireland! This one was kept by a woman, with, I think, the saddest face I ever saw. She opened the gate and thanked me for the six-pence I handed her, but neither smiled nor spoke.

We passed onto the track and, probably because I was so tired and was driving carelessly, we stalled. I was about to get out to crank when the woman appeared at my side, and said, so quietly that Ruth could not hear: "It would maybe be better if the lady got out. The Dublin express is due round the curve at any minute!" Could anything have been more considerate? Had she screamed, I fear I should have been so unnerved that we should have been lost.

At that moment the engine of the approaching train gave a shriek and I could feel the rails vibrate. My blood turned to water. We were pinned under the hood, and escape seemed impossible. Almost without knowing what I was doing, I stamped on the pedal of the self-starter, and--I say it reverently--by the mercy of God it caught, and we slid off the track as the express thundered by!

The rushing wind nearly blew us out of the motor. There could not have been a yard between us and the train. I looked at Ruth. She was as pale as death, but spoke no word. You may be sure I did not forget a thank-offering to the poor gatekeeper, who was white with terror.

As we went on our way I said to myself: "If ever we reach an inn in safety, I will give the car away. The impudent driver who said he wondered Ruth would risk her life with me was right."

But it was long before we reached an inn, for I lost my way! This time it was not Ruth's fault. She was probably so shaken that she could not see the way; at any rate she gave me the wrong road, and we wandered over the hills until we were nearly distracted. When we reached Ross late at night you may believe neither of us had much appetite for the greasy supper which was set before us.

Suddenly, without a word of warning, Ruth put her head down on the table and burst into tears! It was so unlike her that I was dreadfully frightened. I got her to bed and put a hot-water bottle to her feet, and sat by her till she was more quiet, and then went outside in the rain to smoke a pipe, and "represent myself to myself." When I had flagellated myself for all my ill temper, and returned thanks for the mercies of the day, I too went to bed, but not to sleep for many an hour. When at last I did fall asleep, it was only to dream of a huge dog, rushing down a railroad track, whistling like a locomotive and breathing streams of fire from his mouth. It doesn't take a Freud to interpret that dream!

In spite of my troubled night, or perhaps in consequence of it, I woke early. The sun was streaming into my bedroom as if to say: "Sluggard, arise. I was only fooling yesterday when I pretended that Ireland had a rainy climate. To-day is like Italy, and even the dirty streets of Ross are beautiful!"

My mind was quickly made up, and as soon as I was dressed I made my way to the station and found that I could ship the motor to Dublin on a flat car and that it would be delivered to us there the next morning. So I returned to the garage and drove to the station, feeling not unlike Tartarin, when he sold the _chameau_ for a ticket in the diligence, which, Daudet remarks, is not a bad use to make of a camel!

Ruth was more relieved, I am sure, than she cared to show, when she learned that she might have a quiet morning in bed and take the train for Dublin in the afternoon.

As we entered the dining-room of the Shelburne that evening, whom should we meet but the Hodges? This was a joy to Ruth, who, I knew, would find rest in telling her story to her sympathetic friend Anne, and a satisfaction to me, for I knew there was nothing about motors hid from her husband, the professor. Indeed, it was he who had advised me to buy a Frontenac, though he himself is "a man who owns one," and was driving his big Packard, with comfort and pride.

When he had recovered from his hilarity over my experiences, he said that next morning we would look over the car and find the trouble with the self-starter, while Ruth and Anne were shopping for linen and laces.

The car was ready for us when we arrived at the Goods station, next morning, and we drove to the garage for a consultation.

There seemed to be nothing wrong with the engine, nor with the connections, but, when we examined the batteries, we found that they had run down! I explained that I had filled them myself not two weeks ago, but when the professor saw that I had failed to note the date on the little card for that purpose, it was evident that he was sceptical. Well, there was nothing more to do but to have the batteries charged again, and as the man of the garage seemed to be a capable fellow, I hoped I should have no more trouble.

We spent two pleasant days in Dublin, saw where Sir Frederick Cavendish had been murdered--this is not mentioned as one of the pleasures! And then went to the cathedral and thought of the savage old dean whom Thackeray has so wonderfully described--perhaps the best of all his portraits--then to Trinity College, where I confess, Charles O'Malley was more real to me than some of the scholars who have made illustrious that ancient seat of learning.

The professor is not "sound" on Irish politics, but when we went to Dublin Castle and saw some of the young men whom England sends to govern the most imaginative people on earth, even he had to admit that things might be improved! Supercilious good manners in an atmosphere of boredom is not the best means for impressing the Irish with the intelligence, nor even with the justice, of England.

The weather was again "set fair," so that we left Ireland in a blaze of glory. The Hodges were on their way to the Giant's Causeway. But when I told them they would find the roads bad, the professor remarked that no doubt all the roads were bad in the south, and that when Home Rule went into effect those of the north would be equally so, but that while the Union Jack floated over Belfast, and the Protestant religion was still a power, he had no fear! So we parted--perhaps it was time!

We crossed to Hollyhead, and, the car running like a witch, it was not long before we reached the Waterloo, where John greeted us as if he had not thought of any one else since we were last there!

XXXVI

"ONE EVERY MINUTE"

The self-starter is again out of order! I found it cheaper to pay an odd man a shilling each time I wanted to crank than to break my back, which is what I did on our way to Barchester.

When we reached the hotel there, how different was our reception from that which John had accorded us at the Waterloo! The strictly polite and equally indifferent young woman at the desk seemed to think it rather a bore to have us return to them! I hear there is an old coaching inn in that town where they receive one as a friend, and if I ever return to that ancient city I shall go there.

I took the car to the garage and asked the man in charge if he thought he could find the trouble. He said the battery was run down! Instead of saying what I thought, I politely remarked that that could hardly be as I had it charged less than a week before in Dublin.

"Dublin!" he exclaimed contemptuously.

Well, there was nothing to do but to have it charged again--you know they do not perform this service for nothing--and write to the Frontenac Co., in London, telling them what I thought of this invention which was to "revolutionize motoring."

Their answer was what was to have been expected. "Mine was the first complaint they had received. Of course it was impossible to express an opinion as to the cause of the trouble till they had examined the car in their own shops in London, etc." There was a postscript, in which the writer suggested that I might have misused the car and ruined the mechanism, in which case it would be necessary to install a new generator at a cost of about three hundred dollars!

This struck me as humorous, for by this time I was convinced that the chauffeur in London who had said that all changes on American cars were not improvements was right. How I wished I had one of those well-balanced foreign cars, which start with a half turn of the handle, instead of one of these new-fangled "Yankee notions," which promise so much and are out of order half the time!

I was rather low in my mind as we sat in the garden after dinner and discussed our plans. Should we go on to Scotland, as we had intended, or should we sell the car for what it would bring, and buy an English one, or should we give up and go on the Continent and travel like other folk?

Ruth cried out at the thought of selling the car: "Why, I love it," she cried, and could not bear the thought of giving it up. "Surely when the agent sees it he will be able to find the trouble--it really may be something very simple, after all."

"If it were simple," I gloomily replied, "the professor would have discovered it. He knows all there is to know about a motor."

"No," she answered, "it does not follow. You know how often you have said the great specialists are so anxious to find some abnormal disease that they often overlook the most common explanation. It may be the same now."

Well, there was nothing that could be done till we reached London, and thither we planned to start the next morning, or as soon as the car was charged.

To cheer me up Ruth now told me of her conversation in this same garden with the typical John Bull, of which she said she had written you. While I was feebly smiling--I was still too unhappy to laugh--a telegram was brought me which had Ruth's name in full, so it evidently was intended I should not open it even in her absence.

When she had read it, she said: "What do you think? This is from Maud, saying she will be here in the morning, and asking me to wait for her as she wishes to see me on a matter of importance. Would you mind starting without us and let me follow by train and meet you in London?"

I have my faults as a husband, but I believe Ruth will testify that I am not one of those who insist upon knowing what their wives have in mind when they are not telling "the whole truth"! So I said: "Of course not." And so it was arranged.

I did ask if she would like me to make a late start so as to be here when her sister arrived. But she said I must not think of it. So then I saw I was to know nothing, and that it would conduce to the greatest happiness of the greatest number if I left as soon as possible.

Fortunately for me, the battery was not in process of being charged, for the man said he did not know there was any hurry! So I was able to make an early start. I cut across lots and made straight for Banbury, where I stopped at the same inn which had so charmed me on a previous visit, an inn which would have charmed--perhaps did charm--Dickens. The next day I went again through Oxford, and so to London, entering on the west side, which I had learned was the easiest of the many gates to enter.

When I reached the garage of the Frontenac Co., the manager listened to my tale of woe with patience, but, when I said I had bought that particular make of car because I had been assured by the salesman that it was warranted "fool proof," dryly remarked that every warrant had a limit, and reminded me that one was "born every minute." I could not find a suitable reply, and so left the car with him, promising to return the next day.

By way of distraction I went that night to one of the great music-halls, which proved to be a kind of glorified "Keith's."

Sarah Bernhardt was the attraction, but not to me! There was nothing left, it seemed to me, but the mannerisms of the second empire, and I was glad when she left the stage. Had there been nothing else--such as acrobats and performing dogs, both of which I delight in--it would have been worth the price of admission to see Chevallier alone. He was inimitable.

It would pay the trustees of a theological seminary to import him to give "The Charity Bazaar" before the class in pastoral theology! It was the most disgusting picture of the sycophantic priestly you ever saw. The people screamed with laughter--let us hope because it was a caricature and that they had never seen the original.

"The Vicar," dressed in the latest cry in "clericals," is supposed to be receiving the guests at a Charity Bazaar. His insolence to the poor, his failure to "see" the unholy dissenters, his cringing to the prosperous and his crawling before the duchess, who was the last to arrive, filled me with such shame that I had to shake myself to remember that it was acting, and that I was not called upon to make any remarks! If ever again you see me worshipping the Golden Calf, please show me this letter! It was a positive relief when the performing dogs came on the stage.

When I repaired to the garage next day, the manager said he could find nothing wrong with the car. The only trouble was that I had let the battery run down. I sarcastically remarked that he was mistaken; I had not let the battery run down, it had run down of itself, and that that was the best thing it did, that the battery had now been charged three times in two weeks. He said that the local garages were often careless about such matters, but that I should now find that it was all right. When I tried it I found that it functioned well, but as I could not start without Ruth, from whom I had heard nothing since leaving Barchester, I decided to leave the car in his care for another day at least.

When I took my place at the driver's seat next day, I insisted that the manager should be present before I tested the car again. So he was sent for. I took my place and pressed the button. "Nothing doing." The manager suggested that the damp weather might have affected the current, and asked me to try again. This I did, with the same result as before. Then the manager tried, but it simply would not work.

"What do _you_ think is the matter?" I said to the foreman, who, like the manager, is an American.

He laconically replied: "You may search me."

The manager said nothing and I viciously remarked: "Perhaps the battery has run down. Some of these garages are so careless!"

He started to say something, and then evidently thought better of it. After a moment he said: "Well, I simply do not understand it. You saw for yourself that it worked perfectly two days ago?"

"Yes," I said, "it always works 'perfectly' immediately after charging, but forty-eight hours later is 'dead.' The truth is the thing is a failure."

"There will not be an American car on the market next year without one. They all follow the lead of the 'Frontenac,'" he indignantly replied.

"This one will not lead them far," I said, being by this time thoroughly disgusted.

"Our chief engineer is in Scotland, but is returning to-morrow. If you will leave the car here I will have him go over it from headlights to brake, and he will find the difficulty. You say it always runs till forty-eight hours after charging?"

"Yes, that has been my experience."

"How long since you first had this trouble?"

"About three weeks."

"Well, there is evidently nothing mechanically wrong. There is probably a leak which we have not been able to locate, and there the current escapes. If he cannot discover the trouble, I will cable to headquarters at home and we will see if you are right, and the invention is a failure. If you have made such a discovery, I should not like to say how many thousands of dollars the company has lost. But you may be sure the 'Frontinac' will scrap it quicker than they installed it."

I had gone to the "Holland," which Ruth scorns, and I must say that, in my frame of mind at the time, I did not find the voices of my fellow countrymen soothing! A number of people were gathered in the great room under the glass dome, having afternoon tea, when a small boy appeared in the doorway and called out in a shrill voice: "Mummer, pop says can't you get a move on?" Mummer was fat and slow, but she did get the move on, and, what must have been a relief to the rest of the company, her son did the same! I thought with regret of the dear little children at Llandino, and wished we might devote a little more time to voice culture. At that moment a page passed through, saying very quietly--so different from our "paging" at home: "Mr. Dobson, if you please; Mr. Dobson, if you please," and when he came opposite where I was sitting, I did "please," and he handed me a telegram. It was from Ruth, saying that she and her sister were at a small hotel in Kensington, and asking me to join them. But of what Ruth told me when I reached there I will tell you after I have finished the story of the self-starter.

Three anxious days passed, and I again presented myself at the garage. I noticed that every one who saw me grinned, which did not make me feel better disposed toward the company. When the manager appeared--he, too, was smiling--I said: "Have you found the trouble?"

"Oh, yes," he said, "the battery had run down."

"So I suppose," I replied, with biting sarcasm. "Have you found the leak?"

"Yes, the engineer found it as soon as we told him that the battery ran down forty-eight hours after charging."

"Will it work now?"

"Like new; would you like to try it?"

"Yes," I replied, but without enthusiasm. But I no sooner pressed the pedal than the cheerful hum which had first attracted me was heard, and the engine began to turn over.

"How do I know that it will work twenty-four hours from now?" I asked.