A Man of Means | Page 5

not yet adjusted itself to the possession of large means;
and the open-handed role forced upon him by the family appalled him.
When the Coppins wanted anything, they asked for it; and it seemed to Roland that they
wanted pretty nearly everything. If Mr. Coppin had reached his present age without the
assistance of a gold watch, he might surely have struggled along to the end on gun-metal.
In any case, a man of his years should have been thinking of higher things than mere
gauds and trinkets. A like criticism applied to Mrs. Coppin's demand for a silk petticoat,
which struck Roland as simply indecent. Frank and Percy took theirs mostly in specie. It
was Muriel who struck the worst blow by insisting on a hired motor-car.
Roland hated motor-cars, especially when they were driven by Albert Potter, as this one
was. Albert, that strong, silent man, had but one way of expressing his emotions, namely

to open the throttle and shave the paint off trolley-cars. Disappointed love was giving
Albert a good deal of discomfort at this time, and he found it made him feel better to go
round corners on two wheels. As Muriel sat next to him on these expeditions, Roland
squashing into the tonneau with Frank and Percy, his torments were subtle. He was not
given a chance to forget, and the only way in which he could obtain a momentary
diminution of the agony was to increase the speed to sixty miles an hour.
It was in this fashion that they journeyed to the neighboring town of Lexingham to see M.
Etienne Feriaud perform his feat of looping the loop in his aeroplane.
It was Brother Frank's idea that they should make up a party to go and see M. Feriaud.
Frank's was one of those generous, unspoiled natures which never grow _blasé_ at the
sight of a fellow human taking a sporting chance at hara-kiri. He was a well-known figure
at every wild animal exhibition within a radius of fifty miles, and M. Feriaud drew him
like a magnet.
"The blighter goes up," he explained, as he conducted the party into the arena, "and then
he stands on his head and goes round in circles. I've seen pictures of it."
It appeared that M. Feriaud did even more than this. Posters round the ground advertised
the fact that, on receipt of five pounds, he would take up a passenger with him. To date,
however, there appeared to have been no rush on the part of the canny inhabitants of
Lexingham to avail themselves of this chance of a breath of fresh air. M. Feriaud, a small
man with a chubby and amiable face, wandered about signing picture cards and smoking
a lighted cigaret, looking a little disappointed.
Albert Potter was scornful.
"Lot of rabbits," he said. "Where's their pluck? And I suppose they call themselves
Englishmen. I'd go up precious quick if I had a five-pound note. Disgrace, I call it, letting
a Frenchman have the laugh of us."
It was a long speech for Mr. Potter, and it drew a look of respectful tenderness from
Muriel. "You're so brave, Mr. Potter," she said.
Whether it was the slight emphasis which she put on the first word, or whether it was
sheer generosity that impelled him, one can not say; but Roland produced the required
sum even while she spoke. He offered it to his rival.
Mr. Potter started, turned a little pale, then drew himself up and waved the note aside.
"I take no favors," he said with dignity.
There was a pause.
"Why don't you do it." said Albert, nastily. "Five pounds is nothing to you."
"Why should I?"

"Ah! Why should you?"
It would be useless to assert that Mr. Potter's tone was friendly. It stung Roland. It
seemed to him that Muriel was looking at him in an unpleasantly contemptuous manner.
In some curious fashion, without doing anything to merit it, he had apparently become an
object of scorn and derision to the party.
"All right, then, I will," he said suddenly.
"Easy enough to talk," said Albert.
Roland strode with a pale but determined face to the spot where M. Feriaud, beaming
politely, was signing a picture post-card.
Some feeling of compunction appeared to come to Muriel at the eleventh hour.
"Don't let him," she cried.
But Brother Frank was made of sterner stuff. This was precisely the sort of thing which,
in his opinion, made for a jolly afternoon.
For years he had been waiting for something of this kind. He was experiencing that
pleasant thrill which comes to a certain type of person when the victim of a murder in the
morning paper is an acquaintance of theirs.
"What are you talking about?" he said. "There's no danger.