"I shall bust her up," said Joe.
"I care not!" cried Mr. Lavender. "I must recover the dog."
They flashed through the outskirts of the Garden City. "Stop her, stop
her!" called Mr. Lavender to such of the astonished inhabitants as they
had already left behind. "This is a nightmare, Joe!"
"'It's a blinkin' day-dream," returned Joe, forcing the car to an
expiring spurt.
"If she gets to that 'ill before we ketch 'er, we're done; the old
geyser can't 'alf crawl up 'ills."
"We're gaining," shrieked Mr. Lavender; "I can see her tongue."
As though it heard his voice, the car leaped forward and stopped with a
sudden and most formidable jerk; the door burst open, and Mr. Lavender
fell out upon his sheep-dog.
Fortunately they were in the only bed of nettles in that part of the
world, and its softness and that of Blink assuaged the severity of his
fall, yet it was some minutes before he regained the full measure of his
faculties. He came to himself sitting on a milestone, with his dog on
her hind legs between his knees, licking his face clean, and panting
down his throat.
"Joe," he said; "where are you?"
The voice of Joe replied from underneath the car: "Here sir. She's
popped."
"Do you mean that our journey is arrested?"
"Ah! We're in irons.
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