down and down, with deep cart-ruts wringing her aged bones. I recollected that I had said I supposed we shouldn’t be long now.
“Oh, no,” said Lathom. “We’re nearly there.”
We bounced on in silence for ten minutes more; then creaked to a standstill. I put my head out. Dim fields, trees and the tinkling of a distant stream coming remotely up on a puff of southwest wind. No light. No building.
“Is this it?” I asked, “or has the engine conked?”
“What?” said Lathom, irritably. “Yes, of course this is it. What’s the matter? Push along—we don’t want to stay here all night.”
I wrestled with the door and edged out, Lathom close at my heels. He paid the driver, and the car began to move off, lurching on down the slope to find a place to turn.
“Here!” said I; “have you got the beef?”
“Oh, hell,” said Lathom, “I thought you had it.”
I plunged after the taxi, reclaiming the food, and came back to where Lathom was standing. His hurry seemed to have left him. He was striking a match and having a little trouble with it. The car, a hundred yards off, choked, crashed its gears, burbled, choked again, burbled, choked, and came thudding up on bottom gear. It passed us, labouring and bumping, moved up into second, hesitated into top, and its red rear light vanished, showed, jerking, vanished and span slowly skywards.
“Ready?” said Lathom.
I did not point out that I had been patiently waiting for him to make a move, but grasped the bags and followed.