road."

"That's a nice way to talk," suddenly comes in shrill tones from the
woman below, who has edged her way to the foot of the steps. "We don't
go buyin' balloons for you to run over in yer cars. We're respectable
people, we are, an' we work for our livin'."

"Drivin' about in a car like an express train, runnin' over other
people's b'loons," corroborates her husband bitterly. "Wot country
d'yer think yer in? Prussia?"

By this time a small crowd has gathered on the pavement and is gazing
up at the protagonists with ghoulish interest. The lady in the
diamonds, a prey to mingled indignation and alarm, has leant towards
her spouse and is whispering to him urgently, but he shakes her off
with an impatient movement.

"Not on yer life," he snaps. "They won't get a cent out o' me."

"Ho, won't we!" exclaims his accuser hotly. "We'll soon see about
that. We're English people, we are--we don't allow people to go about
destroyin' our b'loons."

"No wonder they're so rich," cries the woman at the bottom of
the steps in satirical tones. "That's the way to get rich, that
is--destroyin' other people's prop'ty an' then refusin' to pay for it.
Anybody could get rich that way."

Reflections on the feasibility of this novel financial scheme are cut
short by the appearance at the top of the steps of the hotel porter,