"What d'ye mean--denying it?" exclaims Rolls-Royce. "Who's denying
anythink?"

"It ain't no good tryin' to deny it," retorts the other. "An' it ain't
no good denyin' wot you did neether, 'cos I've got my missus 'ere to
prove it."

"What I did?" echoes the astonished man. "What did I do?"

"Ran over my child's b'loon," states the accuser, fixing him with a
pitiless eye. For the moment the object of this serious charge is too
taken aback to be capable of speech.

"'Ran over my child's b'loon,'" repeats the other inexorably.
"Leastways your chauffer did. An' when we 'ollered out to yer to stop
you just rushed on like a runaway railway-train."

Rolls-Royce, conscious of the curious gaze of the entire company,
pulls himself together and regards his accuser unfavourably.

"First I've 'eard of it," he growls. "Where was the balloon anyway? In
the road, I s'pose?"

"Yes, it _was_ in the road," retorts the other defiantly, "where
it's got every right to be. Road's there for the convenience of
b'loon-fliers just as much as for motor-cars. More."

"Look 'ere, that's enough of it," says the car-owner harshly. "If
the balloon got run over it's yer own fault for letting it go in the