I found him. He consisted of a German chauffeur and eight bottles
of beer.

When I explained the pitiful situation to him the chauffeur
swallowed two bottles of beer and began to cry.

Then he told the waiter to call him at 7:30, and he put his head
down on the table and went to sleep with his face in a cute little
nest of hard-boiled cigarettes.

I rushed to the telephone and called up the liveryman, but before I
could think of a word strong enough to fit the occasion he
whispered over the wire, "I know your voice, Mr. Henry. I suppose
Parsifal is waiting for you outside!"

Forthwith I tried to tell that liveryman just what I thought about
him and Parsifal, but the telephone girl short-circuited my remarks
and they came back and set fire to the woodwork.

"My, my!" I could hear the liveryman saying. "Parsifal's
hesitation must be the result of the epidemic of automobiles which
is now raging over our country roads. The automobile has a strange
effect on Parsifal. It seems to cover him with a pause and gives
him inflammation of the speed."

I thought of poor Peaches sitting out there in that blushing buggy
staring at a dreaming horse, while in front of her a Red Devil
Wagon complained internally and shook its tonneau at her, and once
more I jolted that liveryman with a few verbal twisters.