Casey was a Liverpool Irishman who had begun life as a clerk in a shipping office and had then, at twenty-seven, revolted and gone out to South Africa to work in the mines until one of his lungs gave out. Then he came home and had a nasty time in London in an office until he was told by a doctor that he must find some outdoor occupation. With the little money he had left, he had learned how to drive and repair a car, had been with one of the big companies for some time; then married a niece of old Martin's and thought he could do better by working for him on a profit-sharing basis. That was René's arrangement; he was given the alternative of buying his car on the hire-purchase system and using the yard as a garage, but on Casey's advice chose the first proposition. Casey said it was better, because you needed capital to stand the heavy wear and tear of a car in constant use in London traffic. That settled, Casey took his novice out in the early morning to satisfy himself that the car would not suffer at his hands. He was delighted with the way the machine was handled. René, too, was pleased. He had been rather nervous at the thought of driving a more powerful engine than that to which he had been accustomed; but the greater power was only an added pleasure and no difficulty. He took out his license and received a number and a number-plate, joined the union, bought a thick green suit that buttoned up to his neck, shiny leggings, and a peaked cap; a waterproof overall, enormous gloves, a leather purse, a rug. Then on a day early in the autumn he drove his car out of the mews and plunged into the eastward stream of traffic. He had not gone above a hundred yards when he was hailed by a gentleman in tail-coat and top-hat carrying a red brief-bag. Drawing up by the curb, he flung back his arm and opened the door as he had seen drivers do, and received the one word: Temple. Absurdly hoping that he would be seen by no one who knew him, and feeling that the eyes of the occupant of the car were boring into the back of his neck, he drove to the Temple, and there received more exact directions from the gentleman, who poked his head out of the window, until they stopped outside a doorway with steps covered with the leaves of a plane-tree. The gentleman got out: "You forgot to put down your flag." René started and blushed. So he had! "The fare's half a crown." "Thank you, . . . sir." He was given two and nine. His first tip! Threepence. It was a busy day. He had only half an hour to wait on the stand which he had chosen for his headquarters. He drove home at night worn out and sleepy.