The Gem Collector | Page 9

merely the
equivalent of so many "plunks". That a man, otherwise more than sane,
should value a jewel for its own sake was to him an inexplicable thing.
Jimmy was still deep in thought when the train, which had been taking
itself less seriously for the last half hour, stopping at stations of quite
minor importance and generally showing a tendency to dawdle, halted
again. A board with the legend "Corven" in large letters showed that
they had reached their destination.
"Here we are," said Spennie. "Hop out. Now what's the betting that
there isn't room for all of us in the bubble?"
From farther down the train a lady and gentleman emerged.
"That's the man. Is that your uncle?" said Jimmy.
"Guilty," said Spennie gloomily. "I suppose we'd better go and tackle
them. Come on."
They walked up the platform to where Sir Thomas stood smoking a
meditative cigar and watching in a dispassionate way the efforts of his
wife to bully the solitary porter attached to the station into a frenzy. Sir
Thomas was a very tall, very thin man, with cold eyes, and tight, thin
lips. His clothes fitted him in the way clothes do fit one man in a
thousand. They were the best part of him. His general appearance gave
one the idea that his meals did him little good, and his meditations
rather less. His conversation--of which there was not a great deal--was
designed for the most part to sting. Many years' patient and painstaking
sowing of his wild oats had left him at fifty-six with few pleasures; but
among those that remained he ranked high the discomfiting of his
neighbors.

"This is my friend Pitt, uncle," said Spennie, presenting Jimmy with a
motion of the hand.
Sir Thomas extended three fingers. Jimmy extended two, and the
handshake was not a success.
At this point in the interview, Spike came up, chuckling amiably, with
a magazine in his hand.
"P'Chee!" said Spike. "Say, Mr. Chames, de mug what wrote dis piece
must ha' bin livin' out in de woods for fair. His stunt ain't writin', sure.
Say, dere's a gazebo what wants to get busy wit' de heroine's jools
what's locked in de drawer in de dressin' room. So dis mug, what do
youse t'ink he does? Why----"
"Another friend of yours, Spennie?" inquired Sir Thomas politely,
eying the red-haired speaker with interest.
"It's----"
He looked appealingly at Jimmy.
"It's only my man," said Jimmy. "Spike," he added in an undertone, "to
the woods. Chase yourself. It's not up to you to do stunts on this beat.
Fade away."
"Sure," said the abashed Spike, restored to a sense of his position.
"Dat's right. I've got wheels in me coco, that's what I've got, comin'
buttin' in here. Sorry, Mr. Chames. Sorry, gents. Me for the tall grass."
He trotted away.
"Your man seems to have a pretty taste in literature," said Sir Thomas
to Jimmy. "Well, my dear, finished your chat with the porter?"
Lady Blunt had come up, flushed and triumphant, having left the
solitary porter a demoralized wreck.
"I'm through," she announced crisply. "Well, Spencer? How are you?

Who's this? Don't stand gaping, child. Who's your friend?"
Spennie explained with some incoherence that his name was Pitt. His
uncle had shaken him; the arrival of his aunt seemed to unnerve him
completely.
"Pleased to meet you," snapped Lady Blunt. "Spencer, where are your
trunks? Left them behind, I suppose? No? Well, that's a surprise. Tell
that porter to look after them. If you have any trouble with him,
mention it to me. _I'll_ make him jump around. Where's the automobile?
Outside? Where? Take me to it."
Lady Blunt, when conversing, resembled a Maxim gun more than
anything else in the world.
"I'm afraid," said Spennie in an abject manner, as they left the station,
"that it will be rather a bit of a frightful squash--what I mean to say is, I
hardly think we shall all find room in the auto. I see they have only sent
the small one."
Lady Blunt stopped short, and fixed him with a glittering eye.
"I know what it is, Spencer," she said. "You never telegraphed to your
mother to tell her what time you were going to arrive."
Spennie opened his mouth feebly, but apparently changing his mind,
made no reply.
"My dear," said Sir Thomas smoothly, "we must not expect too much
of Spennie."
"Pshaw!" This was a single shot from the Maxim.
The baited youth looked vainly for assistance to Jimmy.
"But--er--aunt," said Spennie. "Really, I--er--I only just caught the train.
Didn't I, Pitt?"
"What? Oh, yes. Got in just as it was moving."

"That was it. I really hadn't time to telegraph. Had I, Pitt?"
"Not a minute."
"And how was it you were so