The number of motor manufacturers who give away complete sets of treble-ribbed Irresilient tyres is so limited that I believe I asked Leggatt for an explanation.
'I don't know that I could very well explain, sir,' was the answer. 'It 'ud come better from Mr. Pyecroft. He's on leaf at Portsmouth--staying with his uncle. His uncle 'ad the body all night. I'd defy you to find a scratch on her even with a microscope.'
'Then we will go home by the Portsmouth road,' I said.
And we went at those speeds which are allowed before the working-day begins or the police are thawed out. We were blocked near Portsmouth by a battalion of Regulars on the move.
'Whitsuntide manoeuvres just ending,' said Leggatt. 'They've had a fortnight in the Downs.'
He said no more until we were in a narrow street somewhere behind Portsmouth Town Railway Station, where he slowed at a green-grocery shop. The door was open, and a small old man sat on three potato-baskets swinging his feet over a stooping blue back.
'You call that shinin' 'em?' he piped. 'Can you see your face in 'em yet? No! Then shine 'em, or I'll give you a beltin' you'll remember!'
'If you stop kickin' me in the mouth perhaps I'd do better,' said Pyecroft's voice meekly.
We blew the horn.
Pyecroft arose, put away the brushes, and received us not otherwise than as a king in his own country.