The Car of Destiny

								

a face as brown and eyes as black; therefore, I edited the name of Triana
into Cornish Trevenna, and changed Cristóbal, my middle name, into
Christopher.
We took our first meal in the restaurant, and everyone at the little
tables near by, was talking of the King and "Princess Ena"; how pretty she
was, how much in love he; how charming their romance. My heart quite
warmed to my youthful sovereign, who has had seven fewer years on earth
than I. I felt that, if I had had a fair chance, I should have been his
loyal subject.
"I'd like to have a look at him," said I to Waring after lunch. "The lady
with the nose who sat on our left said to her husband with the chin, that
the King and the two Princesses motor every afternoon. We'll motor too;
and where they go, there we'll go also."
"Take care," said Dick.
"A cat may look at a king. So may Chris Trevenna."
"No good advising you to be cautious."
"Of course not. You wouldn't care a rap for me if there was."
"Shouldn't I? Anyhow, Chris Trevenna might as well wear goggles."
"There's no dust to-day," said I. "It rained in the night."
"I give you up," said Dick. And if giving me up meant going out with me in
my big blue car directly after lunch, then he kept his word. Ropes, my
chauffeur, and right-hand man, who sits always in the tonneau, had already
heard all about the King's automobile, and was primed with particulars. He
leaned across to describe its appearance, as well as mention the make; and
when such a car as he was in the act of picturing passed us, going round a
bend of the road which leads to Spain, there was no mistaking it.
"Let's follow," said I.
Dick sighed, but naturally I paid no attention to that.
There were five persons in the King's car. The slim young owner, three
ladies, two very slender and young, and the chauffeur, all five masked or
goggled, so that it was impossible to see their faces.
"I wish something would happen to them," I said.
Waring looked shocked.
"Just enough of a something to stop the car, and tempt the ladies to take
off their motor-veils. I may never have another chance to see the future
Queen of Spain."
When I was a small lad in England, I used to lie under a favourite
apple-tree in the orchard of the old place where we lived, and wish with
all my might for the fall of a certain apple on which eyes and heart were
fixed. It was extraordinary how often the apple would fall.
In a flash I remembered those wishes and those apples as we began to gain
upon the King's car. Its pace slackened, and then it stopped. The
chauffeur jumped out, and two of the ladies were raising their thick veils
as we came up.
As we were not supposed to know the King, who was "incog," the ordinary
civilities between motorists were in order. I slowed down, and taking off
my hat, inquired in French if there were anything I could do.
The two girls, who had hastily whipped off their veils, turned and glanced
at me. Both were more than pretty; blond, violet-eyed, with radiant