The Wheel O Fortune | Page 5

assurance. "Come and see me this evening,
at seven o'clock, and I will make it worth your while."
A glance at Royson's clothes told him enough, as he thought, to
appraise the value of the assistance given. And he had no idea that his
fair companion had really been in such grave danger. He believed that
the shattering of the pole against the lamp standard had stopped the
bolting horses, and that the tall young man now surveying him with a
measuring eye had merely succeeded in catching the reins.
Royson lifted his hat to the lady, who had alighted, and was daintily
gathering her skirts out of the mud.
"I am glad to have been able to help you, madam," he said. He would
have gone without another word had not von Kerber touched his arm.
"You have not taken my card," said the man imperiously.
Some mischievous impulse, born of the turbulent emotions
momentarily quelled by the flurry of the carriage accident, conquered
Royson's better instincts. Though the Baron, was tall, he towered above
him. And he hardly realized the harshness, the vexed contempt, of his
muttered reply:
"I don't want your charity, I want work."

At once he was conscious of his mistake. He had sunk voluntarily to
the level of the Vauxhall paraders. He had even stolen their thunder. A
twinge of self-denunciation drove the anger from his frowning eyes.
And the Baron again thought he read his man correctly.
"Even so," he said, in a low tone, "take my card. I can find you work,
of the right sort, for one who has brains and pluck, yes?"
The continental trick of ending with an implied question lent a subtle
meaning to his utterance, and he helped it with covert glance and sour
smile. Thus might Caesar Borgia ask some minion if he could use a
dagger. But Royson was too humiliated by his blunder to pay heed to
hidden meanings. He grasped the card in his muddied fingers, and
looked towards Miss Fenshawe, who was now patting one of the horses.
Her aristocratic aloofness was doubly galling. She, too, had heard what
he said, and was ready to classify him with the common herd. And,
indeed, he had deserved it. He was wholly amazed by his own churlish
outburst. Not yet did he realize that Fate had taken his affairs in hand,
and that each step he took, each syllable he uttered in that memorable
hour, were part and parcel of the new order of events in his life.
Quite crestfallen, he hurried away. He found himself inside the gates of
the park before he took note of direction. Then he went to the edge of
the lake, wetted his handkerchief, and rubbed off the worst of the
mud-stains. While engaged in this task he calmed down sufficiently to
laugh, not with any great degree of mirth, it is true, but with a grain of
comfort at the recollection of Seymour's eulogy.
"King Dick!" he growled. "Times have changed since last I heard that
name. By gad, five years can work wonders."
And, indeed, so can five seconds, when wonders are working, but the
crass ignorance of humanity oft prevents the operation being seen. Be
that as it may, Royson discovered that it was nearly eleven o'clock
before he had cleaned his soiled clothes sufficiently to render himself
presentable. As he set out once more for his rendezvous, he heard the
band playing the old Guard back to quarters. The soldiers came down
the Mall, but he followed the side of the lake, crossed the Horse-guards

Parade, and reached the office for which he was bound at ten minutes
past eleven. He had applied for a secretaryship, a post in which "a
thorough knowledge of French" was essential, and he was received by a
pompous, flabby little man, with side whiskers, for whom he conceived
a violent dislike the moment he set eyes on him. Apparently, the feeling
was mutual. Dick Royson was far too distinguished looking to suit the
requirements of the podgy member for a county constituency, a
legislator who hoped to score in Parliament by getting the Yellow
Books of the French Chamber translated for his benefit.
"You are late, Mr. Royson," began the important one.
"Yes," said Dick.
"Punctuality--"
"Exactly, but I was mixed up in a slight mishap to a carriage."
"As I was about to remark," said the M.P., in his most impressive
manner, "punctuality in business is a sine quâ non. I have already
appointed another secretary."
"Poor devil!" said Dick.
"How dare you, sir, speak to me in that manner?"
"I was thinking of him. I don't know him, but, having seen you, I am
sorry for him."
"You impudent rascal--"
But Royson had fled. Out in the street,