"A bad man, ma’am. He and Smail came up, and we let off the guns just to encourage ’em, and they fell slap on their faces in the lane over there, and I’m sure they won’t get the tar off for a month." "You gave Mr. Noakes my message?" "Yes." "And he said he would come, no doubt." "I’m sorry to say, ma’am, he swore like a trooper. But in the circumstances I dare say you would have done the same—not you, of course. I didn’t mean that; I mean any one—that is, any man." "But no gentleman, Mr. Eves." "Certainly—that is, of course not; but then no gentleman would ever be Noakes." Noakes did not appear next morning. Miss Templeton sent one of the maids to fetch him. She came back and reported that Mr. Noakes had been suddenly called away. He never reappeared in Polstead. The story of the tarring was told by Smail, who felt aggrieved, at the village inn that night, and Noakes saw next morning that his position in the village was ruined. He gave instructions for the sale of his business, and Miss Templeton generously cancelled his debt to her in return for his release of Mr. Trenchard. Miss Templeton gave her lecture on food economy, the last of her tour, and the holidays being over, returned with her nephew and Tom Eves to London. "A ripping holiday, old man," said Eves as the friends parted. "Lay in a stock of bright ideas for next year." *THE CLIPPER OF THE ROAD* *I* "How long will you be, Bob?" "Can’t say: perhaps twenty minutes. You needn’t shout." "Jolly sensitive, ain’t you? What about my tender spots? After I’ve taken the trouble to write to your Aunt Caroline for your address, and got it, with yards and yards of advice to a young man, and then sacrificed a day of my leave to hunt you up, you won’t spare a jiff to talk to a fellow, and when I ask you a civil question, tell me not to shout, with the wind roaring like a barrage, and that wretched machine squeaking like——" "Oh, come now, Tom, that’s not fair!" said Templeton. "I told you I must finish grinding these valves, then I’m free. And as for talking, I can hear you quite well; that’s all that matters, isn’t it?" "Been cultivating repartee with your C.O., I suppose," remarked Eves. "Or else your naturally amiable disposition has broken down under the tender mercies of the Boche. Aunt Caroline warned me, I admit: said you had undergone great mental strain, underlined, and were feverishly anxious to repair your wasted life, underlined twice. What did the Boche do to you, Bobby, old man?" "Tell you by and by: must finish this job."