"Here, you get off! This isn't yours. Just cut it!" Hugh deliberately mimicked the youth of whom they were talking. "A fine sort of fellow," he exclaimed. "So you'll set a trap for him, Clive?"
"Now. Without waiting. I'd fifty times rather stay along here and finish this job. Just think, this evening we'd be ready for running. We'd have a trial spin on our car, for there's certain to be things to adjust. But we'd have her running top hole before it got dark. Then we'd make a trip to London."
Hugh's eyes opened wide at the statement.
"It's seventy miles if it's an inch."
"Who cares? We can do it. But——"
"Eh?" asked Hugh, scenting another difficulty just at the moment when he felt confident that all were overcome successfully.
"How long would it take? Let's see. We do twenty miles an hour."
"Hardly that all the way."
"Why not?" demanded Clive, in whose fertile brain the whole scheme had originated, and who panted to be testing his first attempt at road locomotion. "Why not?"
"Well, there's punctures," said Hugh lamely, and without thought of grammar.