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I think I shall have to ask a Question, said Pallant, reappearing at the close of the case. 'I think I shall have to give it a little publicity too, said Woodhouse. 'We can't have this kind of thing going on, you know. His face was set and quite white. Pallant's, on the other hand, was black, and I know that my very stomach had turned with rage. Ollyett was dum.
But perhaps you saw our photo? I said proudly. 'Yes, Bat replied. 'I've been to Niagara, too. And how's Huckley taking it? 'They don't quite understand, of course, said Ollyett. 'But it's bringing pots of money into the place. Ever since the motor-bus excursions were started 'I didn't know they had been, said Pallant.
'What did you get? 'I haven't decided. It might make a good turn, but the public aren't educated up to it yet. It's beyond 'em. If it wasn't, that red dub on the Bench would be worth fifty a week. 'Where? said Woodhouse. The man looked at him with unaffected surprise. 'At any one of My places, he replied. 'But perhaps you live here? 'Good heavens! cried young Ollyett suddenly.
"Swart" is good and so's "gravid," said I, 'but the panel doctor will be annoyed about the adenoids. 'Not half as much as Sir Thomas will about his face, said Ollyett. 'And if you only knew what I've left out! He was right. We told him so, and he, then and there, battered his way with it into the Lancet where they are keen on glands, and forgot us altogether.
'Any chance of 'Dal looking in on us to-night? Ollyett began. 'She's occupied with her Art too, Bat answered bitterly. 'What's the use of Art? Tell me, some one! A barrel-organ outside promptly pointed out that the Earth was flat. 'The gramophone's killing street organs, but I let loose a hundred-and-seventy-four of those hurdygurdys twelve hours after The Song, said Bat.
A shell-pink motor-brake roared up behind us to the music on a key-bugle of 'The Village that Voted the Earth was Flat. In a few minutes we overtook another, in natural wood, whose occupants were singing it through their noses. 'I don't know that agency. It must be Cook's, said Ollyett. 'They do suffer. We were never out of earshot of the tune the rest of the way to Huckley.
'What did you answer? said Ollyett, when all our opinions had been expressed. 'I told him I couldn't do anything in the matter. And I couldn't then. But you'll remember to put in that foot-and-mouth paragraph. I want something to work upon. 'It seems to me The Bun has done all the work up to date, I suggested. 'When does The Cake come in?
Our halfpenny evening paper, which we will call The Bun to distinguish her from her prosperous morning sister, The Cake, was not only diseased but corrupt. We found this out when a man brought us the prospectus of a new oil-field and demanded sub-leaders on its prosperity. Ollyett talked pure Brasenose to him for three minutes.
Our version of how the hoopoe got his crest from King Solomon was, I grieve to say, so inaccurate that the Rector himself no sportsman as he pointed out, but a lover of accuracy wrote to us to correct it. We gave his letter good space and thanked him. 'This priest is going to be useful, said Ollyett. 'He has the impartial mind. I shall vitalise him.
That was all Huckley. I'm doing a "Mobiquity" on Huckley next week. Ollyett wrote the stuff with a fervour and a delicacy which I always ascribed to the side-car. His account of Epping Forest, for instance, was simply young love with its soul at its lips. But his Huckley 'Mobiquity' would have sickened a soap-boiler.
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