Breakfast over, Entwistle and the flight-sub went out into the garden for the time-honoured matutinal pipe until it was time for Peter's guest to take his departure.

"Come along, Billy," shouted his father. "Bear a hand at getting b.u.t.terfly harnessed." The flight-sub was in mufti. His uniform had been damaged beyond repair during his toil amidst the ruins of that devastated street in Barborough. A scar across his cheek and several livid weals on the back of his hands testified to his labours amongst the burning debris.

Somewhat proudly Peter threw open the doors of the combined coach-house and stable. Within was a small governess cart and a sleek and obviously overfed donkey.

"Allow me to introduce you to b.u.t.terfly," he announced. "Warranted to be quiet in harness and a thoroughly good trotter."

Billy said not a word. He had contemplated with considerable misgivings the imposed task of driving a spirited mare through a populous district; but those doubts were as naught compared with the prospect of piloting a humble "moke" through traffic in a strange town.

"Thank goodness I'm in mufti!" he soliloquised with a deep-drawn sigh. "'The condemned man walked firmly to the scaffold' sort of feeling. Well, here goes; no one is likely to know me in this show."

Putting the animal into the shafts was an evolution that required the utmost tact on the part of Barcroft Senior and much nautical skill on the part of his son. It was their first attempt in this direction.

"Get her this way while I hold the shafts," exclaimed Peter. "Gee up, old lady."

b.u.t.terfly obeyed and took up a position athwart the hawse of the craft, as Billy expressed it.

"Round with her," continued Barcroft Senior. "I can't hold these infernal shafts up all day."

Putting his shoulders to the donkey's hind quarters Billy succeeded in "slewing the boat's stern round."

"Easy astern!" he shouted in ringing nautical tones.

Surprised beyond measure, b.u.t.terfly turned her head to take stock of this unusual type of groom, with the result that the flight-sub's face received a good buffet from the animal's nose. Simultaneously the bra.s.s trappings of the harness rasped Peter's hand.

"Confound it!" he roared, relaxing his grasp and allowing one shaft to fall with a clatter upon the cobbles. "The brute's barked my knuckles."

Then, reasoning that the damage afforded a sufficient excuse to "knock off" his professional labours he held his peace on the nature of his injuries.

"Warranted quiet in harness," quoted Billy as his parent cautiously retrieved the shaft. "My word, pater, there's not much room between the dock-gates. Think she'll take it?"

"Ought to," replied Barcroft Senior dubiously. "Now, have another shot. I wish the brute had a reverse gear."

By dint of mingled coaxing and physical force b.u.t.terfly was backed between the shafts. Then both men regarded the result of their triumph with chastened looks.

"Strikes me we've missed this sling arrangement on the starboard side," remarked Billy. "That leather thing ought to be round the shaft. She'll have to forge ahead a bit."

"Right-o!" a.s.sented his parent. "Gee-up. Oh, dash it all! That's my toe this time."

For b.u.t.terfly, in "forging ahead" had brought her hind hoof heavily upon Peter's foot, which happened to be encased in a carpet slipper.

At length the evolutions arrived at a state that found the donkey in the shafts. Father and son stood back to admire their handiwork and to puzzle out the way to adjust the seemingly chaotic tangle of harness.

"Why not ask Entwistle?" suggested the flight-sub. "He's a vet. He ought to know how this gear is rove."

Mr. Barcroft shook his head. He did not like to admit defeat.

"Can't ask him to hobble out here with that sprained ankle of his,"

he said. "Unfortunately I'm not used to the job."

"So I should imagine, pater," added Billy pointedly. "Well, we've got to get on with the business. I'll make sure that everything's lashed up securely. That's the main point. If it isn't right it can't be helped."

The task of harnessing completed b.u.t.terfly was led out of the stable, an operation that nearly resulted in Peter being pinned against the door-post by one of the wheels.

"She's perfectly docile now she's in the trap," he decided as the donkey walked demurely round to the front of the house. "That's right, Entwistle. Another hour will see you safely home. Good-bye, don't forget to look me up at any time. Up you get, Billy."

"Thanks, I'm not having any at present," decided the flight-sub.

"I'll lead her down the narrow lane until we get to the high-road.

Now, then, my hearty; easy ahead once more."

Downhill the donkey walked sedately; Billy's confidence showed signs of returning as he led the sure-footed animal along the rough-surfaced track. Just as it joined the main road there was a short, steep rise.

"Jump in," exclaimed Entwistle; "she'll take it all right."

"I'll give her a chance," demurred the flight-sub. "My weight will make a difference. Now, then, old lady; show us what you can do."

b.u.t.terfly rose n.o.bly to the occasion. So did the shafts, for the animal walked away leaving the governess-cart in a state of most unstable equilibrium. By dint of hanging on to one of the shafts Billy saved his companion from being deposited upon the ground, while b.u.t.terfly, having parted company with the trap, stopped and surveyed the antics of the still oscillating conveyance.

"Never knew a reef-knot to slip like that before," exclaimed Billy, regarding the trailing traces.

"It would be better if the traces were made fast in the orthodox manner, I fancy," suggested Entwistle, alighting from the cart and limping to the shafts. "There, that's the way--although it's not done navy fashion."

Along the main road b.u.t.terfly showed no signs of "speed-form."

Downhill she walked slowly; uphill she plodded with even less haste, and since it was all either up or down progress was far from swift.

"I'll have to have another shave when we get to Barborough,"

remarked Billy with an emphasis on the "when." "I sc.r.a.ped at eight this morning, but at this rate I'll have cultivated a beard before b.u.t.terfly lands us at your place."

"The first mile," commented Entwistle, pointing to a milestone.

"Twenty minutes fifteen seconds. Some record that."

A short distance beyond Blackberry Cross the donkey's manoeuvres began to cause Billy additional alarm. Without any apparent reason b.u.t.terfly would describe a semi-circle, keeping her eyes fixed upon something in the road.

"Starboard, you blighter!" roared the amateur driver, tugging at one of the reins. "You'll have us in the ditch in half a shake."

"Peculiar--very," remarked the vet.

"A very peculiar craft in all respects," added Billy. "She's not used to this style of yoke-line. Steady, you swab! You're swinging to port again."

"I've twigged it," announced, Entwistle. "She's jibbing at those manholes. They seem to irritate her. We'll have to be jolly careful when we get to the tram-lines or she'll try conclusions with a car.

I tell you what: while you are in Barborough----"

"If we ever get there," muttered Billy.

"You ought to get that brute shod. She may do better on the metallic roads."

Two hours later b.u.t.terfly and party were in the thickest part of the traffic. To the flight-sub it was a sort of nightmare. Tram after tram had to be stopped to enable the erratic animal to pa.s.s, while a crowd of urchins (practically all the unwashed of Barborough, Billy thought) tailed on to the "Dead March in Saul" procession and contributed rounds of applause as Barcroft steered the donkey through the traffic mostly by means of his shoulders directed against the animal's ribs.