Now I am going to be a bloater myself. Here is a jolly one, though her stable-name is much too long. She is a Saloon-de-Luxe and she only costs £2125 (why 5, I wonder—why not 6?). I can run to that, surely. At any rate I can climb up and sit down on her cushions; none of the grooms are looking. Dark blue, I see, like Jane. That is the sort of car I prefer. I am like the lady herring; I don’t approve of all this talk about the insides of things; it seems to me to be rather indecent—unless, of course, you do it very nicely, like that young herring. When you go and look at a horse you don’t ask how its sweetbread is arranged, or what is the principle of its lever. Then why should you...?
Well, here we are, and very comfortable too. But why do none of these cars have any means of communication between the owner and the man next to the chauffeur? There is always a telephone to the chauffeur, but none to the overflow guest on the box. So that when the host sees an old manor-house which he thinks the guest hasn’t noticed he has to hammer on the glass and do semaphore; and the guest thinks he is being asked if he is warm enough.
Otherwise, though, this is a nice car. It is very cosy in here. Dark, and quiet, and warm. I could go to sleep in here.
******
What? What’s that? No, I don’t really want to buy it, thank you. I just wanted to see if it was a good sleeping car. As a matter of fact I think it is. But I don’t like the colour. And what I really want is a cabriolet. Good afternoon. thank you....
A pleasant gentleman, that. I wish I could have bought the saloon. She would have liked me. So would he, I expect.
Well, we had better go home. I shan’t buy any more cars today. And we won’t go up to the gallery; there is nothing but oleo-plugs and graphite-grease up there. That sort of thing spoils the romance.
Ah, here is dear Jane again! What a pity it was— Hullo, they have come back—that nice young couple. They are bargaining—they are beating him down. No, he is beating them up. Go on—go on. Yes, you can run to that—of course you can. Sell those oil shares. Look at her—look at her! You can’t leave her here for one of the bloaters. He wavers; he consults. “Such a lovely colour.” Ah, that’s done it! He has decided. He has bought. She has bought. They have bought. Hurrah!
Little Bits of London
V