The Wheel O Fortune | Page 4

all. He saw his opportunity, caught the reins, and took such

a pull at the terrified horses that a policeman and a soldier were able to
get hold of their heads. The coachman, who had fallen clear, now ran
up. With him came a gentleman in a fur coat. Royson was about to turn
and find out what had become of the lady, when some one said quietly:
"Well saved, King Dick!"
It was the Hon. John Seymour who spoke. Rigid as a statue, and almost
as helpless, he was standing in the middle of the road, with his left hand
holding the flag and a drawn sword in his right. Yet a school nickname
bridged five years so rapidly that the man who had just been reviling
Fate smiled at the picturesque officer of the Guards in the old, tolerant
way, the way in which the hero of the eleven or fifteen permits his
worshipers to applaud.
But this mutual recognition went no further. The Guards must on to St.
James's. Some incomprehensible growls set them in motion again, the
drum banged with new zest, and the street gradually emptied, leaving
only a few curious gapers to surround the damaged victoria and the
trembling horses. The fresh outburst of music brought renewed
prancing, but the pair were in hand now, for Royson held the reins, and
the mud- bedaubed coachman was ready to twist their heads off in his
wrath.
"Don't know what took 'em," he was gasping to the policeman. "Never
knew 'em be'ave like this afore. Quiet as sheep, they are, as a ryule."
"Too fat," explained the unemotional constable. "Give 'em more work
an' less corn. Wot's your name an' address? There's this 'ere lamp-post
to pay for. Cavalry charges in Buckingham Palace Road cost a bit."
An appreciative audience grinned at the official humor. But Royson
was listening to the somewhat lively conversation taking place behind
him.
"Are you injured in any way?" cried the gentleman in the far coat,
obviously addressing the lady in the victoria. The too accurate cadence
in his words bespoke the foreigner, the man who has what is called "a

perfect command" of English.
"Not in the least, thank you," was the answer. The voice was clear,
musical, well-bred, and decidedly chilling. The two concluding words
really meant "no thanks to you," The lady was, however, quite self-
possessed, and, as a consequence, polite.
"But why in the world did you not jump out when I shouted to you?"
demanded the man.
"Because you threw your half of the rug over my feet, and thus
hindered me."
"Did I? Ach, Gott! Do you think I deserted you, then?"
"No, no, I did not mean that, Baron von Kerber. The affair was an
accident, and you naturally thought I would follow your example, I did
try, twice, to spring clear, but I lost my balance each time. We have no
cause to blame one another. My view is that Spong was caught napping.
Instead of arguing about things we might have done, we really ought to
thank this gentleman, who prevented any further developments in some
wonderful way not quite known to me yet."
The lady was talking herself into less caustic mood. Perhaps she had
not expected the Baron to shine in an emergency. Her calmness seemed
to irritate him, though he was most anxious to put himself right with
her.
"My object in jumping out so quickly was to run to the horses' heads,"
he said. "Unfortunately, I tripped and nearly fell. But why sit there? We
must take a hansom. Or perhaps you would prefer to go by train?"
"Oh, a cab, by all means."
The horses were now standing so quietly that Royson handed the reins
to the coachman, who was examining the traces. Then he was able to
turn and look at the lady. He saw that she was young and pretty, but the
heavy furs she wore half concealed her face, and the fact that his own

garments were frayed, while his hands and overcoat were plastered
with mud off the wheels, did not help to dissipate a certain
embarrassment that gripped him, for he was a shy man where women
were concerned. She, too, faltered a little, and the reason was made
plain by her words.
"I do not know how to thank you," she said, and he became aware that
she had wonderful brown eyes. "I think--you saved my life. Indeed, I
am sure you did. Will you--call--at an address that I will give you? Mr.
Fenshawe will be most anxious to--to--acknowledge your services."
"Oh, pray leave that to me, Miss Fenshawe," broke in the Baron, whose
fluent English had a slight lisp. "Here is my card," he went on rapidly,
looking at Royson with calm