a hill.

Now as the pattern chauffeur shut the door to the tonneau with the
properly arrogant slam, the man who lingered in the car nodded gravely
to some private thought, unlatched the door, got down, and turned
toward the café, but before following his companions of more brilliant
plumage paused for a quiet word with the chauffeur.

"We dine here, Jules," he announced in English.

Settling into place behind the wheel Jules saluted with fine finish and
deference.

"Very good, Mr. Phinuit, sir," he said meekly, in the same tongue. To
this he added, coolly, without the least flicker of a glance aside,
without moving one muscle other than those involved by the act of
speech, and in precisely the tone of respect that became his livery:
"What's the awful idea, you big stiff?"

Mr. Phinuit betrayed not the slightest sense of anything untoward in
this mode of address, but looked round to the chauffeur with a slow,
not unfriendly smile.

"Why," he said pleasantly--"you misbegotten garage hound--why do you
ask?"

In the same manner Jules replied: "Can't you see it's going to rain?"

Mr. Phinuit cocked a calm, observant eye heavenwards. Involuntarily but
unobtrusively, under cover of the little tubbed trees that hedged the