down he began again, "What do you mean by it, I
want to know, swaggering about here, among gentlemen, as if you were one
of Us? I'll have you put out by the waiters." With this extraordinary
outburst he turned on his heel, and was making off towards the
club-house; but as you know, my temper is not of the sweetest, and mad
or not mad, I didn't exactly yearn over Mr. Payne. I took advantage of
the long legs about which "my friend Montie" has occasionally chaffed me
and caught him up. I cannot conceal from you that I did more. I gripped
him by the shoulder. I held him firmly, apparently somewhat against his
will. I also shook him, and it now comes dimly back to me that his
eyeglass jumped out of his eye.

"You damned cad!" I then remarked in a tone which some people might
consider abrupt; "what in h---- do you mean?"

He took to stuttering--some men do in emergencies--and I knew from that
instant that he couldn't drive a motor-car. "L--et go," he stammered
like a schoolboy. "You--you--confounded _chauffeur_, you! I'll tell
your mistress of you, and have you discharged. You--you're Miss
Randolph's _chauffeur_, and you come here to pass yourself off as a
member at a gentleman's club."

On the point of knocking him down, I decided I wouldn't, and dropped him
instead like a hot chestnut. You see, he "had me on the hip"; for I am
Miss Randolph's _chauffeur_, and there was no good denying it. In a
small way it was one of the nastiest situations of my life. What "A." in
_Vanity Fair_ would have done I don't know, and I didn't know what to do
myself for a minute. You see, my prophetic soul tells me that the time
hasn't come to confess all and throw myself on the Goddess's mercy, as I
hope it may some day; and I couldn't afford to be plunged into hot water
with her when the facts would look fishy and be impossible to explain.
Still, I couldn't eat humble pie with that Bounder; sooner I would have
quietly killed him, and stuffed him into a hole in the links. However, a
sweet little cherub of inspiration looked out for the fate of poor Jack,
and whispered an alternative in my ear.

"Do you dare deny it?" Payne demanded, plucking up courage.

"I 'dare' do a good deal," said I, looking him straight in the eyes.
"But I don't intend to deny it. I am Miss Randolph's _chauffeur_." How
he had found that out I couldn't imagine.

"Then, I can tell you, you won't long remain so," blustered the fellow,
as cocksure as if he were her broth