After the Race

								
The cars came scudding in towards Dublin, running evenly like pellets
in the groove of the Naas Road. At the crest of the hill at Inchicore
sightseers had gathered in clumps to watch the cars careering homeward
and through this channel of poverty and inaction the Continent sped its
wealth and industry. Now and again the clumps of people raised the
cheer of the gratefully oppressed. Their sympathy, however, was for the
blue cars—the cars of their friends, the French.

The French, moreover, were virtual victors. Their team had finished
solidly; they had been placed second and third and the driver of the
winning German car was reported a Belgian. Each blue car, therefore,
received a double measure of welcome as it topped the crest of the hill
and each cheer of welcome was acknowledged with smiles and nods by
those in the car. In one of these trimly built cars was a party of four
young men whose spirits seemed to be at present well above the level of
successful Gallicism: in fact, these four young men were almost
hilarious. They were Charles Ségouin, the owner of the car; André
Rivière, a young electrician of Canadian birth; a huge Hungarian named
Villona and a neatly groomed young man named Doyle. Ségouin was in good
humour because he had unexpectedly received some orders in advance (he
was about to start a motor establishment in Paris) and Rivière was in
good humour because he was to be appointed manager of the
establishment; these two young men (who were cousins) were also in good
humour because of the success of the French cars. Villona was in good
humour because he had had a very satisfactory luncheon; and besides he
was an optimist by nature. The fourth member of the party, however, was
too excited to be genuinely happy.

He was about twenty-six years of age, with a soft, light brown
moustache and rather innocent-looking grey eyes. His father, who had
begun life as an advanced Nationalist, had modified his views early. He
had made his money as a butcher in Kingstown and by opening shops in
Dublin and in the suburbs he had made his money many times over. He had
also been fortunate enough to secure some of the police contracts and
in the end he had become rich enough to be alluded to in the Dublin
newspapers as a merchant prince. He had sent his son to England to be
educated in a big Catholic college and had afterwards sent him to
Dublin University to study law. Jimmy did not study very earnestly and
took to bad courses for a while. He had money and he was popular; and
he divided his time curiously between musical and motoring circles.
Then he had been sent for a term to Cambridge to see a little life. His
father, remonstrative, but covertly proud of the excess, had paid his
bills and brought him home. It was at Cambridge that he had met
Ségouin. They were not much more than acquaintances as yet but Jimmy
found great pleasure in the society of one who had seen so much of the
world and was reputed to own some of the biggest hotels in France. Such
a person (as his father agreed) was well worth knowing, even if he had
not been the charming companion he was. Villona was entertaining also—a
brilliant pianist—but, unfortunately, very poor.

The car ran on merrily with its cargo of hilarious youth. The two
cousins sat on the front seat; Jimmy and his Hungarian friend sat
behind. Decidedly Villona was in excellent spirits; he kept up a deep
bass hum of melody for miles of the road. The Frenchmen flung their
laughter and light words over their shoulders and often Jimmy had to
strain forward to catch the quick phrase. This was not altogether
pleasant for him, as he had nearly always to make a deft guess at the
meaning and shout back a suitable answer in the face of a high wind.
Besides Villona’s humming would confuse anybody; the noise of the car,
too.

Rapid motion through space elates one; so does notoriety; so does the
possession of money. These were three good reasons for Jimmy’s
excitement. He had been seen by many of his friends that day in the
company of these Continentals. At the control Ségouin had presented him
to one of the French competitors and, in answer to his confused murmur
of compliment, the swarthy face of the driver had disclosed a line of
shining white teeth. It was pleasant after that honour to return to the
profane world of spectators amid nudges and significant looks. Then as
to money—he really had a great sum under his control. Ségouin, perhaps,
would not think it a great sum but Jimmy who, in spite of temporary
errors, was at heart the inheritor of solid instincts knew well with
what difficulty it had been got together. This knowledge had previously
kept his bills within the limits of reasonable recklessness and, if he
had been so conscious of the labour latent in money when there had been
question merely of some freak of the higher intelligence, how much more
so now when he was about to stake the greater part of his substance! It
was a serious thing for him.

Of course, the investment was a good one and Ségouin had managed to
give the impression that it was by a favour of friendship the mite of
Irish money was to be included in the capital of the concern. Jimmy had
a respect for his father’s shrewdness in business matters and in this
case it had been his father who had first suggested the investment;
money to be made in the motor business, pots of money. Moreover Ségouin
had the unmistakable air of wealth. Jimmy set out to translate into
days’ work that lordly car in which he sat. How smoothly it ran. In
what style they had come careering along the country roads! The journey
laid a magical finger on the genuine pulse of life and gallantly the
machinery of human nerves strove to answer the bounding courses of the
swift blue animal.

They drove down Dame Street. The street was busy with unusual traffic,
loud with the horns of motorists and the gongs of impatient
tram-drivers. Near the Bank Ségouin drew up and Jimmy and his friend
alighted. A little knot of people collected on the footpath to pay

								Rate this book:
0.0 / 0 votes