towards the stagnant 'bus.

"I have."

"Have you the licence which allows you to take it upon the high road?"

With frozen fingers I held it out to him. He moved to the back of the
car, unscrewed the entrance to the petrol tank and applied his nose
to the aperture. After three official sniffs he turned upon me
aggressively.

"There is an undeniable odour of petroleum. How do you account for
that?"

"Sir," I replied, "last week my little son had his knockabout suit
dry-cleaned in Perthshire by the petrol-substitute process. This
morning he climbed upon the back of the car to see whether his Silver
Campine had laid an egg in the hood."

He glared at me.

"Ah! Have you the necessary extension which allows you to use a
motorcar as a habitation for hens?"

I gave it to him.

Then, frustrated with fury, he thundered at me successively: "Have you
a towing permit? Have you a dog licence? Can you produce a boot and
shoe grant? Do you hold any rubber shares? Have you been inoculated
for premature decay? What did you do in the Great War?"