THE VOICE IN THE AIR

D

AVID COIL, head of the firm of Coil, Son & Bramwell, electricians in the city of London, sat at his desk in his private room meditating, with a sheaf of paper before him. Finally he touched the electric button, and when the boy came in he told him to request the presence of Mr. Bramwell.

David Coil was a typical, stolid old British merchant, and although he dealt in electricity he was as slow-going and conservative as if his traffic pertained to the Courts of Chancery. The man who answered his summons was of an entirely different type. His clean-cut, beardless face and piercing eye, and indeed the intonation of his voice might have caused a casual observer to set him. down as an American, but he belonged in fact to an ancient English family, which in these later commercial days had fallen upon evil times, through agricultural depression and the wrong horse winning too frequently. With some difficulty Sir Geoffrey Bramwell had sent his son through college. Then it occurred to the old gentleman that if farms in Kent could not pay unless they were divided into building lots, and the estate of Dentworth Hall was too far from London for that, it would be a brilliant idea to send his son to a country where agriculture was more prosperous, so he paid a hundred pounds premium to some plausible rascal in London, and the boy, with others in like circumstances, went off to the United States, ostensibly to obtain a practical knowledge of farm

ing, but in reality to work for nothing as a hired man for a hard-headed Westerner, who knew how to make the most of what Providence sent.

So young Bramwell left the Western farm and went still further West, where he got reasonably good wages on a cattle ranch, and developed into a cowboy. This free and easy horseback life on the plains suited him better than anything he had undertaken, but alas, the march of empire taking its way westward put the ranch out of commission and young Bramwell found himself compelled to seek fresh fields of activity. So he drifted to Minneapolis and spent his accumulation of cash looking for some employment that had a future before it. This he did not find, and at last necessity compelled him to become a motorman on a newly established electrical street car line. He motored well, and was at some pains to arrive at a knowledge of the demon he rode, just as he studied his horse on the plains. He took to electricity as if he had been Edison's second cousin, and was soon promoted from the front of the electric car to a position in the chief engineer's office. There is no saying what altitude he might have attained had not a letter come from his father asking him to return to England and help break the entail of the Dentworth estate. It seemed that

a rich stock broker in London wished to become a country gentleman and had offered a price for the place which would not only liquidate the numerous mortgages of the estate, but leave a balance in hand, which balance Sir Geoffrey promised to share with his son, if the son would agree to the sale of the property. So young Bramwell returned, fell in with his father's wishes and then bought a junior partnership in the electrical firm of Coil & Son, E. C. He was now somewhere about twenty-seven years

of age, with a strong belief in his own future and in that of electricity. Old David Coil had supreme faith in him, and the young man, who earlier in life had been unable to pull his own family out of its difficulties, was now doing this very thing for the city organization with which he had become connected.

"You wish to see me?" said Bramwell to his chief on entering the private office.

"Yes," replied David Coil. "Was it not Dentworth Hall that your father sold to Peter Sime?"

"Dentworth Hall in Kent? Yes, sir."

"Then you know the ins and outs of the house, I suppose?"

"I know it as well as I know my own pocket." "A somewhat rambling place, I take it?"

"It is that. The main portion of it was built in the time of Elizabeth, other parts are older, but the most recent section dates from Charles II., since which period our family seems to have abandoned building. In truth they had little need for further extension because the house was much too large and expensive to keep up during the last century. Why do you ask?"

"That old swindler, company promoter and stock jobber, Peter Sime, who is making more money than he knows what to do with, proposes to put in what he calls improvements. He wishes a complete installation of electric light, in mansion, stables, barns and outhouses, with something by way of a searchlight on the north tower, so that he may show his guests the surrounding country when the moon isn't shining."

"Good gracious!" ejaculated Bramwell.

"It will be a big job," continued the old man, “and, of course, I don't wish to lose it. However shadily old

Sime may have come by his money, we shall earn what we get of it honestly enough. Have you any sentimental objections to visiting your old home?"

"Not in the least. I should be delighted to run down there."

"Very well. If you can make it convenient to take the 10 o'clock train to-morrow morning, you will be met at Dentworth station. Peter Sime will not be there, but he has sent me in these papers a rough outline of what he wants. You will examine the mansion and make a sketch of the lay of the wires, and strike an estimate of the total cost. But don't let the old thief off too cheaply, remember."

"I'll take care of that," replied Bramwell, as he slipped a rubber band round the papers Coil handed to him.

Young Bramwell took the 10 o'clock train, and although the line was not celebrated for its speed, ultimately reached the little station at Dentworth. Here he found a somewhat shabby one-horse brougham awaiting him. An old coachman sat rigidly in his place. He brought his finger to the rim of his hat as the young man approached.

"Is this conveyance for Dentworth Hall?" asked Bramwell.

The old coachman started visibly on hearing the voice, then mumbling some incoherent reply, he left the horse to its own devices and scrambled stiffly down to the ground, throwing open the door of the brougham with a gesture of great deference.

"Yes, Master Geoffrey," he said, finding his voice at last. "It's been sent here for you, sir."

"Hello, John, is this you?" cried the young man cordially. "I didn't recognize you at first in your new

livery. You were rather rusty as far as costume was concerned, last time I saw you. So you are here still? I thought all the old retainers were turned away."

"Most of 'em were, Master Geoffrey. Mr. Sime, 'e brought down new servants from London; 'aughty hupstarts, I calls 'em. But the young lady, she takes a fancy to me, an' so I'm her coachman, Master Geoffrey."

"Ah, there's a young lady, is there? Well, you always were a favourite with the sex, John, and I see your luck has not deserted you."

The young man threw the hand bag he carried into the vehicle, but instead of following it, he slammed the door. "Mount to your place, John, and I'll get up beside you."

"Oh, Master Geoffrey," cried the old man, "I couldn't think o' the like o' you riding beside the like o' me."

Bramwell laughed.

"What's the use of being master," he said, "if I can't do as I please? I want to ride where I can see the country and talk with you; so climb up, unless you want to get inside and let me drive you."

At this the old man, still grumbling protestations, mounted his seat and took the reins. Bramwell rattled

on.

"Well, John, how do you like the new people? I hope the scriptural warning concerning new wine in old bottles has not been verified. They haven't torn down the old place yet and put up a modern villa, have they?"

"No, Master, they have not; an' as for likin' them, none o' us likes 'em in the whole country side, sir." "Dear, dear! And what is the cause of Mr. Sime's unpopularity?"

"He's a city gent," growled the old man.