“Why are you so jumpy, dear? We are just going under the leanin’ oak.”
The leaning oak? There was a long way to go yet. The engine purred. London was the temple of machinery. It was hot in here.
“Shall we have a window down?”
“As you like. But it is rainin’.”
The air came rushing in, sown with raindrops that spattered coolly against his face. He drank the wind in gulps, half-choking at the volume of it cramming down his throat. This was good. And the horn on this car had such an imperious note, but after all, great hopes were driving with it. They must go faster, faster, but then Mamma did not like it. The station was so far away, they might not catch their train. The horn again. He would like to take it away and have it in London as a souvenir to blow when things were not going well.
“Oh, John, look. There are the village.”
“Which side?”
“There, to your left. Oh, you have missed them, they are behind now. How nice of them, how nice of them.”
“Yes, that was nice of them.”
“They were nearly all there. Oh dear.”