And seizing Mr. Lavender as if collaring him at football, he knocked
off his hat, propelled him into the car, banged the door, mounted, and
started at full speed, with Blink leaping and barking in front of them.
Debouching from Piave Parade into Bottomley Lane he drove up it till the
crowd was but a memory before he stopped to examine the condition
his master. Mr. Lavender was hanging out of window, looking back, and
shivering violently.
"Well, sir," said Joe. "I don't think!"
"Joe," said Mr. Lavender that crowd ought not to be at large. They were
manifestly Huns.
"The speakin's been a bit too much for you, sir," said Joe. "But you've
got it off your chest, anyway."
Mr. Lavender regarded him for a moment in silence; then putting his hand
to his throat, said hoarsely:
"No, on my chest, I think, Joe. All public speakers do. It is
inseparable from that great calling."
"'Alf a mo'!" grunted Joe, diving into the recesses beneath the
driving-seat. "'Ere, swig that off, sir."
Mr. Lavender raised the tumbler of fluid to his mouth, and drank it
off; only from the dregs left on his moustache did he perceive that it
smelled of rum and honey.
"Joe," he said reproachfully, "you have made me break my pledge.
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