The Tea Gardens had flags waving at the entrance and along by the hedge in honour of the occasion; a photographer was giving considerable attention to the task of securing a good picture of the motor-omnibus with Mrs. Jarrett and her nieces at the side. The artist said, “Now, please!” and at that moment the horse driven by Mr. Woods became unmanageable, causing the ladies to cry, “O—ah!”
When the animal regained self-control, Woods mentioned that it was no doubt wise to obtain the photograph ere anything amiss happened to the new conveyances. The motor-man demanded to know what was meant by this. Woods replied that he always meant what he said. Motor-man, temper already acutely tried, declared it would be a keen pleasure to punch Mr. Woods’s nose. Woods retorted that this job required the complete abilities of a man, and was not therefore within the power of the omnibus-driver. The other took off his reefer jacket, ordering the conductor, to take charge of the garment; Woods, forgetting his recent disapproval of militant tactics, laid his hat on the grass at the side of the road. At the first blow, Mrs. Jarrett ran forward crying:
“Oh, you mustn’t hurt him! You please mustn’t hurt him!”
“I’m not going to hurt him, ma’am,” said the flushed and excited Mr. Woods; “I’m only going to kill him.”
“It isn’t him I’m nervous about,” she wailed; “it’s you!”
Woods put on his hat, looked around in a dazed, sheepish way, and, with a jerk of his head, ordered his men to follow him back to the stables.
“No,” she said appealingly; “I don’t want you to do that.”
“Well, but,” he argued, “what else is there to do? I’m prepared to listen to anything reasonable. Especially,” he added, “coming from you.”
They consulted apart, the nieces and the men and a few villagers looking on eagerly, and evidently wishing that their powers of hearing were finer. Woods, pinching his under-lip, said he doubted whether there was anything in the idea, but he felt willing to give it a trial. And did she—lowering his voice—did she really mean what she said just now? Mrs. Jarrett, pleating her apron, urged it was unfair to make any one responsible for a remark made on the spur of the moment, and re-stated her suggestion. One of the nieces fetched an inkstand, and, the cards being reversed, with a sharpened piece of wood she wrote upon them:
“An Hour’s Excursion through the
Forest.
One Shilling.”