"I might have offered the little beggar a lift," he said to himself. "Silly not to have thought of it. He has a longish journey before him—that is, if Papa doesn't lay him by the heels. I might stop and let him overtake me. I wonder where he is."
He leaned over the side of the car and surveyed the road behind him.
The car, which had been waiting for some such opportunity as this all morning, promptly mounted the footpath and charged a hedge. Fortunately it was climbing a hill on its first speed at the time, so the results of the impact were not serious.
Mr. Mablethorpe, who was quite accustomed to mishaps of this kind, stopped his engine, and descended to earth to review the situation.
The first object which met his eye was Philip—a little blown and obviously taken by surprise—standing in the road with one hand still upon the Cape-cart hood.
"Hallo!" remarked Mr. Mablethorpe genially. "Still here?"
"Yes," replied Philip. "I thought I would run behind."
"Better come and sit in front," advised Mr. Mablethorpe. "But first of all we must get Boanerges out of the hedge."
"Who?"
"Boanerges. Let me introduce you. I present Boanerges—my superb, four-seated, two-cylinder, one dog-power reaping machine—to—to—Mr.—"