"You know I cannot bear argument, Julius," she said, with a little moan.
"Sorry!" said Mr. Mablethorpe humbly. "We must do as we are told, Dumps. We will go upstairs and wash in hot water. Then we shall have black hands and faces for months and months, and Mother won't be able to take us to Church. Hurrah!"
And this undutiful parent and callous husband caught up his daughter on his shoulder and carried her, shrieking joyfully, to the nursery. Five minutes later he descended, clean and smiling, and after caressing his hypochondriacal spouse, set to work to start up his engine. After three back-fires this feat was accomplished, and the car, with much burring of gear-wheels and slipping of the clutch, started off upon its deafening career. The vehicle in question was an old friend, and like most old friends felt privileged to speak its mind on all occasions, which it did with no uncertain voice.
Mr. Mablethorpe, having safely negociated the gateway,—no light feat, considering the amount of play on his steering-wheel,—turned sharp to the right and proceeded northward. Presently he came to four cross-roads. At the foot of the signpost sat a small, sturdy, and well-dressed boy, with short, curly, red hair and hazel-green eyes.
As the car slowed down in case of cross traffic the boy rose to his feet, and ranging up alongside asked a polite question.
Mr. Mablethorpe leaned over as far as he could.
"Is it very important?" he yelled above the din. "If I stop this engine to listen to you I may never be able to start it again."
Philip replied with the full pressure of his lungs, but the only distinguishable word was "Coventry." The amiable Mr. Mablethorpe accordingly switched off the current, and the engine clanked itself into a state of coma.
"Now let us hear all about it," he said.
"Can you please tell me the way to Coventry?" enquired Philip.