“A fine morning, beggin’ your pardon, sir,” said the policeman facetiously. He seemed to be an acquaintance of the skater.
“Reliability trials,” continued Hatton. “Be good enough to start us, Perkins.”
“Very good, sir,” said Perkins.
“Drive to Ludgate Circus and back, and beat the gentleman on the skates,” said Malim to our driver, who was taking the race as though he assisted at such events in the course of his daily duty.
“Hi shall say, ‘Are you ready? Horf!’”
“We shall have Perkins applying to the Jockey Club for Ernest Willoughby’s job,” whispered Malim.
“Are you ready? Horf!”
Hatton was first off the mark. He raced down the incline to the Circus at a tremendous speed. He was just in sight as he swung laboriously round and headed for home. But meeting him on our outward journey, we noticed that the upward slope was distressing him. “Shall we do it?” we asked.
“Yessir,” said our driver. And now we, too, were on the up grade. We went up the hill at a gallop: were equal with Hatton at Fetter Lane, and reached the Temple Gate yards to the good.
The ancient driver of a four-wheeler had been the witness of the finish.