ELEVEN In which
HARRY LOSES AN ARGUMENT AND THE FLASH GAINS A PASSENGER
Harry thrust the press pass into her hand. “I’m afraid not. I don’t like it when people lie to me. It makes me distrust them.”
“I don’t make a regular habit of lying, you know.”
“Only when it suits your purpose.”
“Oh, and you never say anything that isn’t perfectly true, I suppose?”
“I try to avoid it.”
“You didn’t, for example, tell anyone that Johnny was Thomas Edison, Junior?”
Harry shifted uncomfortably and scratched his head. “How did you hear about that?”
“It’s all over the ship,” she said. “You should have told someone who was more discreet.”
“It was meant as a joke. I wasn’t deliberately trying to deceive anyone, the way you have been.”
“Tell me this, then: If I had asked you, on the first day we met, whether I could accompany you and your friends around the world, what would you have said?”
“I’d have said no, of course.”
“There you are.”
“Yes, well, I’m saying it now, in any case. So all your deception, all your—your fake friendship didn’t accomplish a thing, did it?”
“Oh, yes, it did,” said Elizabeth acidly. “It made me realize what a prude and a hypocrite you are, and how intolerable it would be to spend even a few days in your company, let alone several months!” She turned on her heel and strode off across the deck. For once, Harry did not offer to escort her to her cabin.
Over the course of the next two days, Harry wished a hundred times that he had had the foresight to bring along an interesting book. It might have distracted him, kept him from replaying over and over every conversation he’d had with Elizabeth—if that was, in fact, her name—and wondering how he could have been so naive. He should have realized all along that, if she was so fascinated by him and by the Flash, there must be some good reason.
This was hardly the first time he had been betrayed or disappointed. No one makes it through childhood and school without the pain of having a playmate or a classmate suddenly turn against him. Harry had had more than his share of such experiences. Sometimes a friendship soured because he had carelessly revealed his Indian heritage; other times friends grew resentful when Harry outshone them at sports. In spite of it all, he had gone on trusting people too much, believing the best of them. Well, if he expected to make it around the world without losing his money or his motorcar, or worse, that would have to change. Somehow he would have to learn to be more cautious, less trusting.
The Aurania was scheduled to reach New York on the fifteenth of August. On that morning, as Harry was having breakfast, Charles Hardiman unexpectedly appeared at his table. “May I?” said Charles, gesturing at a chair.
Harry grinned wryly. “If you’re sure you can bear such a cramped and dreary dining room.”
Charles brushed something from the seat of the chair and lowered himself onto it carefully. “I need to talk to you,” he said solemnly.
“Having second thoughts about the trip?”
“No, not at all. It’s about Annie Laurie, actually.”
“Aha. So, she’s risen all the way up to first class, eh?”
“Yes. I first made her acquaintance two days ago, and we’ve spoken at length several times since then.”
“I see. And what sort of lies has she been telling you?”
Charles scowled. “See here, Fogg, it’s not good form to insult a lady.”
“She’s not a lady. She’s a reporter.”
“I know that.”
“Oh? What else did she tell you?”
“That she asked to accompany us on the trip, and that you refused her.”
“I did.” Harry set his scone aside; the marmalade on it suddenly tasted bitter to him.
“Did she tell you why she was so anxious to come with us?”
“Not in so many words. But isn’t it obvious? If she did a series of exclusive reports on our heroic efforts, it would increase her paper’s circulation—and, of course, make her reputation in the bargain.”
Charles waved his words aside. “No, no, you don’t understand. There’s more at stake than that. The Daily Graphic didn’t give her this assignment, you know. In fact, the editor didn’t believe she could handle it. She had to practically beg him to give her a chance. And she’s had to pay her own way. She gets no salary at all from the paper until she begins sending in stories. If we don’t even let her aboard the Flash, she’s going to look a fool; it’ll badly damage her career, if not ruin it altogether. You should have seen her, Fogg, when she was telling me all this. She was practically in tears.”
Harry wanted to scoff, to say that it was undoubtedly all a show, designed to win Charles over. But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Elizabeth was really that cold and conniving. Neither could he bring himself to forgive her entirely. “I’m sorry. It’s just not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Do you still imagine this is going to be some sort of pleasure jaunt, Hardiman? It’s going to be dirty and miserable and exhausting, and the last thing we need is a woman along. I mean, think about it. Where would she sleep? What would she eat? I bought supplies with two people in mind, not four. Where would she . . . you know? There won’t be any facilities.”
“We can work all that out.”
“When? We arrive in New York today; we’ll be on the road first thing tomorrow morning.” Harry shook his head vehemently. “No. No. It’s just not possible.”
“Have you considered the fact,” said Charles, “that it’s not your decision to make? The three of us are in this together. I move that we take a vote.”
“Why should you have any say at all? This was never your idea; you came only because your father told you to.”
“Well, what about Shaugnessey, then? Have you asked him?”
Harry sighed. He hadn’t bothered to mention the matter to Johnny. Though his friend was a genius where machinery was concerned, he didn’t know the first thing about people, particularly women. He was obviously smitten with Elizabeth and would welcome her company without considering the problems involved.
Clearly, Elizabeth was a clever and capable woman. But this trip would demand more than cleverness. It would require unflagging determination and fortitude, and there was no way of knowing whether she had those qualities.
Of course, when it came to toughness and tenacity, she probably had the edge on Charles Hardiman. And, now that Harry thought about it, a reporter for a major London newspaper might prove to be a real advantage. As Elizabeth had demonstrated, a press pass sometimes opened doors that were firmly closed to ordinary people.
“If she did come,” said Harry, “—and I’m not saying she will come, but supposing she did—she would have to provide her own food and pay for her own lodging . . . if there is any.”
“She fully expects that. And should she run short of funds, I can easily afford to lend her some.”
“No doubt. Unless, of course, we’re attacked by Chinese bandits who beat us senseless and take all our money.”
Charles looked startled. “Do you think that’s likely?”
Harry sighed again. “This is not the Cotswolds we’ll be traveling through, Hardiman, or the Lake Country. Anything is likely. Anything at all.”
If Harry had been truly adamant—had he, for example, refused to drive the car if Elizabeth was in it—he might have had his way. But, though he did not approve of her impulsive and foolhardy plan, he could not bring himself to spoil it, now that he knew how much it meant to her. Besides, he was hardly in a position to condemn anyone for being impulsive or foolhardy.
And so it was agreed that Elizabeth would join them on a sort of trial basis. If she proved too much of a liability, Harry reserved the right to drop her off at the nearest train station; from there she could make her own way home.
Thanks to the transatlantic telegraph cable, news now crossed across the ocean far faster than any ship. For a week, New Yorkers had been reading about the Flash’s imminent arrival, and hundreds had gathered to welcome the car and its crew; a squad of policemen had been brought in to keep them from mobbing the intrepid young motorists.
While Harry and Johnny oversaw the unloading of the motorcar, Charles accompanied Elizabeth to the nearest Western Union office, where she sent a triumphant telegram to the Daily Graphic, informing the paper that she had won—or, more accurately, finagled—a seat in the car; the editor promptly cabled her ten pounds for expenses.
She at once began composing her first dispatch:
New York, New York, August 15
The daring young motorists who are to attempting to circumnavigate the globe have generously agreed to let a representative of the Daily Graphic ride with them. In the weeks to come, this fortunate reporter will be providing the Graphic’s readers with a series of regular and exclusive eyewitness reports on the adventures of the Flash and its crew.
It promises to be a grueling journey, even for us passengers. As we are expected to provide our own food and shelter, your humble correspondent purchased a canvas tent and several cases of tinned food, only to discover that there was no room for them in the vehicle. Thankfully, Mr. Shaugnessey, the ever-obliging mechanic, offered to attach a wooden crate to the rear of the “car,” for the purpose of carrying such supplies.
Since it was by this time late in the day, Mr. Hardiman gallantly suggested that some among us might prefer to spend the night in a hotel, as it might be the last opportunity to do so for some time. He referred, of course, to the female contingent, who made it clear that she expected no special treatment, and that she would be perfectly content to set out without delay. And so we did. It must be admitted that your correspondent had an ulterior motive; if we leave at once, we will avoid the unwelcome attentions of rival newspaper reporters.
Though our readers will undoubtedly be curious to know what route we will follow across America, the young pilot of the Flash, Mr. Fogg, has asked that the Graphic not reveal this information. He fears that, if we are beseiged by well-meaning well-wishers in every town along the way, it will slow his progress, and that is something he can ill afford. As of this date, Mr. Fogg has a mere ninety days remaining in which to cross all of North America, Asia, and Europe, or lose his extravagant wager.