"I like your modesty, my boy. 'Tis a rare thing in inventors."
"He's far too modest," said Eves. "That's why I've appointed myself his advertising agent. It's an old road-sweeper, remember; he's been working under difficulties. In my opinion—of course, I'm not an expert—the thing's a great success; you should see the amount of mud it scooped up."
"I saw a mighty deal of mud as I came down the lane. You will not try it here, sure?"
"We tried it along the road," said Templeton. "And I've been thinking of a better place. On the other side of the town the road is tarred, and the machine will run much more smoothly. Besides, there's very little mud."
"A bright idea," said Eves. "I propose that you drive the machine over the muddy roads while Mr. O'Reilly and I follow in the growler. We'll get out when we come to the tarred highway, and I'll perch up where I was before, and try to keep those brushes in order."
The suggestion was accepted. O'Reilly looked on critically as Templeton drove the sweeper slowly up the lane; then he stepped into the cab and told the driver to follow at a reasonable distance. Eves joined him.
As they proceeded along the road they passed at intervals small groups of farmers and labourers with their wives and children, who, defying the weather, had donned their Sunday best for the civic ceremony.
"Is it the likes of a wake, then?" O'Reilly asked. "Or a horse-race, maybe?"
"Only a country beano," replied Eves, and told what he knew of the afternoon's proceedings.
"That's disappointing, now. I'd have liked to see a good race, but I've no wish in the world to hear Noakes make a speech."