‘Come and look at the pretty suit I’ve chosen,’ Penfentenyou cooed, as one cajoling a maniac.

I staggered out-of-doors again, and fell into the car, whose ever-running machinery masked my yelps and hiccups.  When I raised my forehead from the wheel, I saw that traffic through the village had been resumed, after, as my watch showed, one and one-half hour’s suspension.  There were two limousines, one landau, one doctor’s car, three touring-cars, one patent steam-laundry van, three tricars, one traction-engine, some motor-cycles, one with a side-car, and one brewery lorry.  It was the allegory of my own imperturbable country, delayed for a short time by unforeseen external events but now going about her business, and I blessed Her with tears in my eyes, even though I knew She looked upon me as drunk and incapable.

Then troops came over the bridge behind me—­a company of dripping wet Regulars without any expression.  In their rear, carrying the lunch-basket, marched the Agent-General and Holford the hired chauffeur.

‘I say,’ said the Agent-General, nodding at the darkened khaki backs.  ’If that’s what we’ve got to depend on in event of war they’re a broken reed.  They ran like hares—­ran like hares, I tell you.’

‘And you?’ I asked.

’Oh, I just sauntered back over the bridge and stopped the traffic that end.  Then I had lunch.  ’Pity about the beer, though.  I say—­these cushions are sopping wet!’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.  ’I haven’t had time to turn ’em.’

’Nor there wasn’t any need to ‘ave kept the engine runnin’ all this time,’ said Holford sternly.  ’I’ll ’ave to account for the expenditure of petrol.  It exceeds the mileage indicated, you see.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I repeated.  After all, that is the way that taxpayers regard most crises.

The house-door opened and Penfentenyou and another came out into the now thinning rain.

‘Ah!  There you both are!  Here’s Lingnam,’ he cried.  ’He’s got a little wet.  He’s had to change.’

’We saw that.  I was too sore and weak to begin another laugh, but the Agent-General crumpled up where he stood.  The late Mr. Bellamy must have been a man of tremendous personality, which he had impressed on every angle of his garments.  I was told later that he had died in delirium tremens, which at once explained the pattern, and the reason why Mr. Lingnam, writhing inside it, swore so inspiredly.  Of the deliberate and diffuse Federationist there remained no trace, save the binoculars and two damp whiskers.  We stood on the pavement, before Elemental Man calling on Elemental Powers to condemn and incinerate Creation.

‘Well, hadn’t we better be getting back?’ said the Agent-General.

‘Look out!’ I remarked casually.  ’Those bonnet-boxes are full of bees still!’

‘Are they?’ said the livid Mr. Lingnam, and tilted them over with the late Mr. Bellamy’s large boots.  Deborah rolled out in drenched lumps into the swilling gutter.  There was a muffled shriek at the window where Mrs. Bellamy gesticulated.