He looked at his grimy hands, at his mud-stained clothes, up the road, down the road, and finally at the boy, who had at last made an impression on his retina. “Hi, boy!” he said. The boy approached with a shy smile. Mr. Greatorex scowled, conscious of his plight. “Boy, tell me, and don’t _grin_, is there a smith anywhere in this neighbourhood?” “In the village, sure, measter.” “Where is the village?” “About three miles away, over yonder.” “God bless me! Three miles! Well, look here, boy, I’ll give you _sixpence_ to run there and send the smith back—behind a horse, on a bicycle, _anyhow_—to mend this confounded machine. I’m twenty miles away from _home_, you understand, and I shall be _late_ for dinner. I’ll make it a _shilling_ if the smith is here within an hour.” The boy looked up into the wrathful face and smiled again. “Would ’ee like me to mend un for ’ee? ’Twould maybe save time.” Mr. Greatorex stared. “_You_ mend it! ’Pon my word!” And then he burst into a roar of laughter which carried away his ill-humour, for Mr. Greatorex was normally a very good-tempered person. The situation was, in truth, amusing. The boy was a little fellow under four feet high. He had a round chubby face, not free from stains. He wore corduroy breeches much too large for him, big clumping boots, and a flannel shirt open at the neck. His blue eyes peeped up from beneath a large, soft, much-discoloured straw hat. And this little urchin had actually offered to mend a motor-car with which Mr. Greatorex, with all his knowledge of mechanism, had been struggling for half an hour in vain! Mr. Greatorex laughed again. “Come, cut along, youngster,” he said genially. “Let me see how _fast_ you can run.” “I’ll mend un if you give me leave. ’Twill save time,” persisted the boy. Mr. Greatorex pulled out his watch. What a joke, he thought—this sprat of a boy offering to tackle his huge motor-car! It was only a little after five; there might still be time to fetch the smith, get the repairs made, and yet reach home by half-past seven. A little rest would not come amiss after his exertions. Why not let the youngster try his hand—for the fun of it? “Well then, _fire_ away, my young engineer. I’ve been at it half an hour, _confound_ the thing!” “What have ’ee done, measter?” “Done? Everything! Examined the sparking plugs: _they’re_ all right. Wires from battery: _they’re_ all right. Battery itself, _that’s_ all right. Plenty of petrol in the tank. _Every_thing’s all right, hang it, and yet the thing _won’t_ go!” “Don’t you worrit, measter. Give me a lend of your tools.” The boy’s cocksureness again amused Mr. Greatorex, who seated himself on the parapet of the bridge, and mopped his perspiring face, smiling pleasantly. Though past fifty he was still young at heart, and very ready to be amused. He took out a pipe, filled and lit it, and puffed away, with an expression of serene contentment on his rubicund dirty face.