"There! Didn't I tell yer?" said the owner, trotting alongside. "What's wrong, eh?"
Templeton pulled up within a few yards, and backed.
"Oil," he said, laconically. "Your big ends are going."
"Big ends! What the jooce! Here, you Thomson, why didn't you give the engine no oil?"
"'Cos there warn't none," said the chauffeur, sulkily. "I told yer——"
"None of yer lip, now! Well, if it's only oil—Here, mister, oil up, and look sharp about it! None of yer country dawdling: get a move on!"
Templeton looked over the side of the car, and said quietly, in his mild considered way:
"I should just like to remark that unless you can moderate your impatience, or curb your somewhat insolent expression of it, you may take yourself and your car elsewhere."
"Yes," cut in Eves, who had come out into the road. "If I were you, young feller, I'd jolly well chuck him into the horse-pond."
