“Talk o’ the Agricultur’l Hall!” he said, mopping his brow—“’tisn’t in it with us. The approach to the bridge must now be paved with hurdles, owin’ to the squashy nature o’ the country. Yes, an’ we’d better have one or two on the far side to lead her on to _terror fermior_. Now, Hinch! Give her full steam and ’op along. If she slips off, we’re done. Shall I take the wheel?” “No. This is my job,” said the first-class engine-room artificer. “Get over the far side, and be ready to catch her if she jibs on the uphill.” We crossed that elastic structure and stood ready amid the bracken. Hinchcliffe gave her a full steam and she came like a destroyer on her trial. There was a crack, a flicker of white water, and she was in our arms fifty yards up the slope; or rather, we were behind her, pushing her madly towards a patch of raw gravel whereon her wheels could bite. Of the bridge remained only a few wildly vibrating hop-poles, and those hurdles which had been sunk in the mud of the approaches. “She—she kicked out all the loose ones behind her as she finished with ’em,” Hinchcliffe panted. “At the Agricultural Hall they would ’ave been fastened down with ribbons,” said Pyecroft. “But this ain’t Olympia.” “She nearly wrenched the tiller out of my hand. Don’t you think I conned her like a cock-angel, Pye?” “_I_ never saw anything like it,” said our guest propitiatingly. “And now, gentlemen, if you’ll let me go back to Linghurst, I promise you you won’t hear another word from me.” “Get in,” said Pyecroft, as we puffed out on to a metalled road once more. “We ’aven’t begun on _you_ yet.” “A joke’s a joke,” he replied. “I don’t mind a little bit of a joke myself, but this is going beyond it.” “Miles an’ miles beyond it, if this machine stands up. We’ll want water pretty soon.” Our guest’s countenance brightened, and Pyecroft perceived it. “Let me tell you,” he said earnestly, “It won’t make any difference to you whatever happens. Barrin’ a dhow or two Tajurrah-way, prizes are scarce in the Navy. Hence we never abandon ’em.” There was a long silence. Pyecroft broke it suddenly. “Robert,” he said, “have you a mother?” “Yes.” “Have you a big brother?” “Yes.” “An’ a little sister?” “Yes.” “Robert. Does your mamma keep a dog?” “Yes. Why?” “All right, Robert. I won’t forget it.” I looked for an explanation. “I saw his cabinet photograph in full uniform on the mantelpiece o’ that cottage before faithful Fido turned up,” Pyecroft whispered. “Ain’t you glad it’s all in the family somehow?” We filled with water at a cottage on the edge of St. Leonard’s Forest, and, despite our increasing leakage, made shift to climb the ridge above Instead Wick. Knowing the car as I did, I felt sure that final collapse would not be long delayed. My sole concern was to run our guest well into the wilderness before that came.