Start number two proved successful and we sped along very comfortably until we hit that long cobbled road.  The day was exceedingly warm, the stones sun-baked, and after the first mile or so I saw Huberson looking nervously at his fore wheel.  His anxiety was well founded, for half a minute later, whizz!—­I could feel the rubber splitting!

We stopped and all climbed out.

“It’s all up!” he exclaimed.  “Not one—­but two tires are burst, and the shoe of the emergency wheel is flapping like an old dirty rag!”

“Now, in my time—­” began the alderman.

“Never mind about your time, old man.  If you want to get back to Oulchy and that mowing machine before Christmas, you’ve got to pitch in and help,” cut in Huberson, whose nerves could no longer stand the strain.  Our friend took the hint and began stripping off his coat.  We were eight miles from Soissons, on the upgrade of a cobbled road, full in the sun.  It was three P. M. on a stifling August day!

The men must have spent an hour trying to make impossible repairs—­they knew it was no use walking back to Soissons where aid had already been refused, and it was evident from the condition of the tubes that there was no hope of mending them.

What to do?

“I’ll tell you,” said I (and I must admit that I spoke for the sake of saying something), “I’ll tell you!  Suppose you take out the inner tubes and stuff the shoes with grass!”

The men looked at me as if I had suddenly gone out of my mind.  Their contempt was so apparent that it wilted me.

“Yes—­I’m serious.”

And then arose a series of protestations which common sense bade me heed, but which didn’t advance our cause in the slightest.  When we had lost a full half-hour more arguing the question, I once again proclaimed my original idea.

The driver glanced at me in despair and shrugged his shoulders.  “The least we can do is try.”

So saying, we fell to work tearing up grass and weeds.  And that is how I came to ride over thirty miles on three grass-stuffed tires, which, thanks to the heat, towards the end of the journey began sending forth little jets of green liquid much to the astonishment of all those who saw us pass.

III

The next few days following my eventful trip to Soissons were spent superintending the installation of my hospital.  For convenience’s sake I decided to utilize the entire ground floor, first because there were fewer and more spacious apartments, each one being large enough to hold ten or twelve beds, thus forming a ward; second, because it would be better to avoid carrying the wounded up a flight of stairs.  The rooms above could be used in case of emergency.  All this of course necessitated the moving of most of my furniture and objets d’art, as well as the emptying of H.’s much encumbered studio—­I having determined to keep but a small apartment in the east wing for private use.  It was really a tremendous undertaking, far worse than any “spring cleaning” I had ever experienced, especially as I was but poorly seconded by my much-depleted domestic staff, already more than busy trying to keep the farm going.