I warned my wife by means of a hasty enjoining finger to keep silence.
Will it be believed that she looked at me, said “Why should you not help?” opened the window, and called out that I was there?
“Come and give us a hand, Baron,” said Menzies-Legh from outside. “It’s a very stiff pull—we’ll have to push behind as well, and want what help we’ve got.”
“Certainly,” said I, all apparent ready bustle; but I shot a very expressive brief glance at Edelgard as I went out.
She, however, pretended to be absorbed in her sewing.
“You Socialists,” said I to Jellaby, next to whom I found I was expected to push, “do not believe in marriage, do you?”
“We—don’t—believe—in—tyrants,” he panted, so short of breath that I stared at him, I myself having quite a quantity of it; besides, what an answer!
I shrugged the shoulder nearest him and continued up in silence. At the top of the hill he was so warm and breathless that he could not speak, and so were the others, while I was perfectly cool and chatty.
“Why, gentlemen,” I remarked banteringly, as I stood in the midst of these panters watching them wipe their heated brows, “you are scarcely what is known as in training.”
“But you, Baron—undoubtedly are——” gasped Menzies-Legh. “You are—absolutely unruffled.”