"What's the matter?" When the engine was purring gently, Fancy confessed that noise upset her. Pistols, for example, discharged suddenly in places of entertainment, made her jump. Alfred said derisively: "What a rare wife for a soldier!" "I thought 'twas going to explode, yes, I did." "Not she. 'Tis a beautiful 'bus, and, maybe, she'll carry me and mine"--he glanced at her now pensive face--"to fame and fortune." With this hope animating his heart and voice, Alfred spoke at length, and with impressive deliberation, mapping out a golden future. Already he had made arrangements to transport passengers to Salisbury, likely boys and girls anxious to attend the High School. He predicted an ever-increasing traffic and the almost immediate necessity of running two 'buses and engaging an assistant. "Maybe such a job would suit a young woman I know, Miss Fancy Broomfield." Fancy hastened to assure him that such ambitions soared high above her disabilities. Alfred continued, waxing very eloquent, letting loose amazing phrases, setting forth prospects which must please and allure his listener, talking at her so persistently that Fancy became frightened. "Alfred," she said, entreatingly, "don't make so sure of things." "'Tis in my hand." "I mind poor Father's plans, and that makes me nervous when you race on so." "What about his plans?" "He'd a nice business, shoeing the carriage horses of the quality. He never did fancy rough work. But it went to bits, when motoring came in. That lay back of his poor health. We never know what'll happen." "I say we do. God Almighty helps them as helps themselves. I'm helping myself to a large spoonful, but I can down it, and more too." Undeterred and undismayed by her protestations, he rushed on gaily, as if driving his 'bus at excess speed. To Fancy he seemed to be whirling out of sight altogether. Nevertheless she guessed that this nerve-racking, soul-jolting excursion into the future was presented as a joy-ride for her. "If you ain't careful," she warned him, "you'll fetch up in Buckingham Palace." At this derisive quip, he jammed on brakes, regaining her sympathy with the grim remark: "Or in a ditch. You're right, my girl. 'Tis a fool as toots his own horn. Let's say good-bye to the old van." The van stood derelict at the back of the shed; the stout horses had been sold at a fair price. Alfred locked up the door of the shed and glanced dubiously at the grey skies. The afternoon promised fine weather, but the grass in the park was sopping. Being a true Yellam, Alfred had made elaborate plans; he had chosen the spot where he meant to propose, a bosky nook in one of the smaller plantations, hard by a tiny stream, where ferns grew luxuriantly. In this sanctuary Fancy might be persuaded to take off her hat and gloves. Then, after due preliminaries, the man would have his way with the maid. He felt full of poetry, and quite incapable of expressing it. "Wet as water it be underfoot," he growled.