“They’re all out except a Ford,” said the stout man. “Did you want to go for a drive?”
“No. I want to run up to London in a hurry—what’s the mileage from here?”
“We reckon it sixty three miles from here to London—that is to say the Old Kent Road.”
“That’s near enough,” said Jones. “What’s the price?”
“A shilling a mile to take you, and a sixpence a mile for the car coming back.”
“What’s the total?”
The proprietor figured in his head for a moment. “Four, fifteen and six,” said he.
“I’ll take the car,” said Jones, “and I’ll pay you now. Can I have it at once?”
The proprietor went to a door and opened it. “Jim,” cried he, “are you there? Gentleman wants the Ford taken to London, get her out and get yourself ready.”
He turned to Jones.