"Hallo!" remarked Mr. Mablethorpe genially. "Still here?" "Yes," replied Philip. "I thought I would run behind." "Better come and sit in front," advised Mr. Mablethorpe. "But first of all we must get Boanerges out of the hedge." "Who?" "Boanerges. Let me introduce you. I present Boanerges--my superb, four-seated, two-cylinder, one dog-power reaping machine--to--to--Mr.--" "Philip Meldrum." "--To Mr. Philip Meldrum. Now you know one another. (At least, Boanerges knows you: you don't know Boanerges.) Come and help to shove his ugly face in!" Philip assisted his new and eccentric friend to disentangle Boanerges from the hedge and push him back into the roadway, and then obediently took his seat. He was trembling with pure ecstasy. He was in a motor-car! At last he had stepped from textbooks into the realms of reality. He surveyed the various appliances on the dingy dashboard. There were two switches of the electric light variety, one marked "M" and the other "A," which Philip knew stood for Magneto and Accumulator respectively. There was an oil-reservoir, with a piston-rod protruding from the top, and a glass gauge at one side to show the level of the oil. Last of all, suspended from its tail by a drawing pin, came a clockwork mouse, which had originally been the property of the Dumpling and was now spending its declining years as a motor-mascot. Meanwhile Mr. Mablethorpe, with the assistance of the starting-handle, had been playing a monotonous and unmelodious tune upon his hurdy-gurdy-like engine. Presently he paused for breath. "Boanerges takes a lot of starting-up," he explained. "I'll have one more go, and if that fails we will run him backwards down the hill and let the reverse in. That ought to do it." "Are you running on magneto or accumulator, sir?" enquired Philip. Mr. Mablethorpe left the starting-handle and came thoughtfully round to the side of the car. "I don't seem to be running on either," he remarked. "My mistake! Let us try this little fellow." He turned down the switch marked "A," and returned to his labours. The immediate result was a stunning explosion immediately under Philip's feet. "That is the first gun," explained Mr. Mablethorpe. "He always gives us three before we start. The first is a protest; the second means '_Drop it, or there will be trouble!_' and the third usually ushers in a conflagration. After that I blow the flames out, and off we go!" But this was too sanguine an estimate. After five resounding back-fires the engine still failed to exhibit any signs of abiding vitality, although the accumulator had been reinforced by the magneto. Mr. Mablethorpe accordingly took his seat at the wheel and, releasing the brakes, allowed the car to slide rapidly backward down the hill. At the same time he performed some complicated evolutions with his feet.