"Chug-chug-chug," I heard in the distance.
Then a single, clear-cut: "Bang!"
Then silence.
"If he's run into those Buff Orpington's," I cried, "there'll be a murder committed!"
But no! Gran'pa had evidently stopped his machine merely to turn round and start on the homeward journey again.
"Pop-pop-pop!"
Then that quiet, steady "Chug-chug-chug" once more, and the ungodly contrivance came spinning round the corner and up the garden path at a good ten to twelve miles an hour.
"It—goes—fine!" panted Gran'pa as he alighted by our side.
"Suppose we garage it in the coal-house," I suggested, dully. "Then we might go indoors and leave the neighbors in peace."
I motioned in the direction of five or six back bedroom windows, behind whose curtains we saw the dim outlines of a score of curious faces peering down on us.