He wore a black smear on his face,
And held out the hand of a rough artisan
To pilot me into my place.
Like the engine my frock somehow seemed to mis-fire,
For Reginald's manner was querulous,
But after some fuss with the near hind-wheel tyre
We were off at a pace that was perilous.
"There's Brown just behind, on his second-hand brute,
He thinks it can move, silly ass!"
Said Reggie with venom, "Ha! Ha! let him hoot,