momentary mental picture of him as some Roman staff-officer rushing back to the base in his chariot. He had an imperious air as he glared at me and backed his machine with one hand to straighten it. I found my voice. I said, 'I have as much right to the road as you.' 'What?' he said, in a high note. 'To stand in the middle and block the traffic. What are you? An escaped lunatic? Have you made your will, hey?' 'Oh,' I retorted, 'If you've bought the road, or the earth, I'll get off it, of course. I should have said _you_ were the escaped lunatic going along at that pace.' He laughed, a high, reedy cackle that seemed familiar, rose stiffly out of his place and stepped down as though he had cramp. 'Ouch!' he said, bending and straightening to unlimber himself. 'Where are we, hey? Barnet? Taking an evening stroll after the office?' And he took off his goggles and I saw my young brother's bright dark eyes and high-bridged nose and sarcastic mouth. He shouted with laughter, went off again into his reedy cry, and screamed, ''Pon my soul, it's Charley! Well, I'm ... Where in the wide, wide world did _you_ spring from? Revisiting the glimpses of the moon? Good heavens!' And he gripped my shoulder. "That was how we met in after years. He was at his ease at once. I was bewildered. 'By Jove, I nearly did for you that time. Nobody but a madman would stand in the middle of the Great North Road to admire the scenery, old chap. It's suicide. An amateur would have had you in mince-meat.' He stooped to examine his brake. 'Charred, by Jove! And I expect some of the gears are stripped too. Get in.' "'Get in!' I said in astonishment. 'What for?' "'Why, come up to town and have dinner with me, of course,' he laughed. 'The Prodigal Son. Which of us two is the Prodigal, Charley? 'Pon my soul, I believe you are. You've been wandering all over the world, I believe. I went to the funeral--you know.' I nodded. 'And the old chap said you were in some frightful hole or other. Well, let me get in and you can sit on the step. I'll take you up to my digs.'