particular with them, Bucephalus came to life at once and broke into a
lumbering trot.

"You silly chump, why didn't you say you could drive?" asked Haynes.

"Nobody asked me," said the Boy Hero modestly, "and I was shy."

At the time when we had been scheduled to reach the cricket-ground we
had still a mile to go along a narrow leafy road, hardly more than a
lane. The cars were overdue, and Haynes, whose haughty spirit could not
brook the idea of being passed by jeering plutocrats, propounded a
scheme.

"They can't pass us unless we go into the ditch," he explained. "So when
they come we'll pretend to be asleep, take up the middle of the road,
and simply ignore them. We'll get there first, after all."

A moment later we heard the buzz of engines. I took a hurried glance
round and saw the sunlight on brasswork as the car came round a distant
corner.

"It's them," I said.

The reins dropped slackly on Bucephalus's back and he slowed to a walk.
Inside the governess-cart all was somnolent peace. Behind us the car was
already beginning to make remarks on one of those abusive
press-the-button horns. "You FOOL! You FOOL! Get OUT o' the way! Get OUT
o' the way!" it said. Then we heard the car slow down and pandemonium
broke loose. The horn was reinforced by an ordinary hooter, a whistle,
several human voices and, lastly, an exhaust siren. I stole a glance at