To avert the disaster he immediately consumed it himself, but Jerry was too engrossed with his brainstorm to notice.
“I’ve got the stomach-ache,” he repeated, “and she ought to be ready by now. In fact I know she is. My last crash wasn’t a bad one. What about it?”
“You mean...?” said Hugh, staring at him.
“I mean,” answered Jerry, “that I’ll go off to the aerodrome now, and get her ready. Bring Potts along in half an hour, and I’ll take him to the Governor’s place in Norfolk. Then I’ll take you over to Paris.”
“Great!—simply great!” With a report like a gun Hugh hit the speaker on the back, inadvertently knocking him down. Then an idea struck him. “Not your place, Jerry; they’ll draw that at once. Take him to Ted’s; Lady Jerningham won’t mind, will she, old boy?”
“The mater mind?” Ted laughed. “Good Lord, no; she gave up minding anything years ago.”
“Right!” said Hugh. “Off you get, Jerry. By the way, how many will she hold?”
“Two beside me,” spluttered the proud proprietor of the Stomach-ache. “And I wish you’d reserve your endearments for people of your own size, you great, fat, hulking monstrosity.”
He reached the door with a moment to spare, and Hugh came back laughing.
“Verily—an upheaval in the grey matter,” he cried, carefully refilling his glass. “Now, boys, what about Paris?”