"With pleasure, sir," replied Eves. "Come along, Bob." "Really, I must be getting back," said Templeton. "There’s the garage, you know. Besides——" He looked over his dirty overalls and grimy hands. "Well, you’ll have to get some petrol; while you’re doing that I’ll relate what I know of the life history of Noakes. A splendid rag, old man," he added, as he turned to follow the colonel. *THE COLD WATER CURE* *I* "We’ll get some lunch at my digs," said Templeton, as he started with Eves on the return journey. "I’ll have time to show you one or two ideas of mine before I am due back at the garage." "Oh, I say, Bob, I’d made up my mind to stand you a topping lunch at some hotel or other. Lunch at digs!" Eves’s look was eloquent. Templeton smiled gently. "There’s only one hotel, or rather inn," he said, "and there you can only get Government beer. It has only domestic rations. Besides, you don’t know my landlady—she’s a gem! She expects me, you know, and she’ll have enough for two." "’A heart resigned, submissive, meek,’" Eves quoted. "Well, old sport, I’ll try to bear up, and as I’ve a tremendous appetite after hospital slops, you know—just buck in, will you?" The road being mainly down-hill, and the petrol tank now full, Templeton had resolved to run back on engine power alone, and had furled the sails. Just below the crest of the hill they passed the green car, about which Noakes and his two companions were apparently engaged in a heated altercation. Noakes scowled fiercely as the road yacht dashed on. "Rummy we should come across that old humbug!" said Eves. "Still rummier that he should be Mayor of Pudlington. I thought the mayoralty was the reward for long years of civic virtue. Old Noakes can’t have been here more than a couple of years. How is it you didn’t know he was mayor?" "My dear man, I’m not interested in municipal affairs. Besides, I’ve only been here a few weeks, and with only two months’ leave——" "Just so. Like the busy bee, you must improve each shining hour. That bee must have been a frightful prig." "Come, now——" "No offence, old bean! Of course he gathered loads of honey, and all that: a jolly useful life—adventurous, too—saw a lot of the world, don’t you know: always on the move. That part would suit me to a T. We’re both like the bee, you see: you in your industry, and what you may call stickiness; me in my roving propensity, my incurable levity, my passion for honeydew—in the form of cigarettes. I say, Bob, I think I’ll write for the magazines. I don’t see why my ideas shouldn’t be worth something, as well as yours." "What ideas?"