IN THE GARAGE.
Page 15
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A Conversation Behind Locked Doors.
THE COMPANY in the garage was undoubtedly mixed. It included a van painted like nes.v, but whose coat unfortunately lacked that leaden basis upon which permanency is so dependent.
Despite this drawback, the vehicle in question regarded itself as a hero of no small proportions. Its • chassis had been through the retreat from Mons, and was fully entitled to the watered ribbon and four chevrons. It had been invalided home early in 1918, and had subsequently figured—though the figure ,Was certainly rather a low one—in a public auction.
Among a crowd consisting mainly of "mere civilians," it was naturally inclined to hold its bon-net high, especially as a palpable twist in the frame gave , the forward end a somewhat " cocky " appearance not originally contemplated by the designer.
The party also comprised an ambulance of an old Red .Cross type, a few private cars and cycles of obsolete model, and a motorcab in an advanced stage of dissolution.
The loud hum of a passing aeroplane broke the silence.
"There he goes," remarked the Mons hero sulkily, "swanking as usual. That fellow spends half his time telling everyone that HE won the war."
"Well, he certainly did his bit," remarked an ancient touring car of a famous make. " MY people built his engine. In fact, our firm probably did more than any other to—" "Yes, yes," interrupted the van. "I suppose we all think that. And of course he's done his bit ; but so have other people, and made less noise about it."
"In my opinion," said a motor-bicycle, in a high, shrill voice, ' our despatch machines and machine-gun _sections did as much as anyone. Now if you ask
me-"
"But we don't," said the ambulance, severely. "Children should be seen and not heard."
"Get out," retorted the bicycle, cheekily. "Anyhow, what did YOU do in the great war, Daddy? "
This was known to be a sore point, for the ambulance had never left London, and was very sensitive about it.
"It's most unfair to talk like, that," he protested. "Everyone knows that I tried to get out, but failed in my medical."
"How was that?" inquired the van, rather sceptical on the subject.
"Well, they said I was too short in the wheelbase, and was suffering from chronic overhang, which would have proved fatal on active service. Anyhow, I've done all I could. I've worked day and night taking wounded to the hospitals and I've positively creaked with overload till I thought my back springs would break."
"I was kept on home service, too," said' the 'touring car. "And just lately I've done very little. They've kept me so short of nourishment."
"Yes," said the ambulance, "and isn't the stuff _ they give you beastly. Mine is not much better than paraffin, and it gives me such .a sooty head that I hardly know how to start up in the morning." , "I hear," retnarked.the van, "that there's some talk of giving us a ration of alcohol."
"Talk I " commented the car. "Yes, plenty of it. But we shall all be dead long before anything is done. However, benzole is coming along again now, so things may improve." "So long as the petrol people don't get hold of it," added the ambulance.
"I consider it's high time they did away with coupons, and gave us our food at a reasonable price," remarked the car "I've. heen starved for years."
"The fact is," said the motorcycle, "that you highpowered people have had your day. The future hes with the democracy. The growing voice of the proletariat will no longer be Silenced. My friends, shall we allow the idle rich to wash themselves down in petrol, while the poor man's mount languishes with a dry carburetter? Shall we—" "Shut up ! " said the van, sternly. "This isn't an electioneering meeting: Besides, all your socialistic clap-trap won't go down with the people from the Front."
"Ugh!" shivered the cycle. "But anyhow, you weren't in the front line. If you were a Tank, or an armoured car, there would be something • to 'talk about. But, after ail, you only carried food about— same as you do at home."
"Shells," corrected the van. "Not that it matters. The troops had to have both, and we shouldn't have gone far without the A.S.C. M.T. Our job may not have been showy, but it had be done, and we did it as well as any Tank or aeroplane that ever exhausted."
"Fine fellOws, the Tanks," remarked the touring car," one of our people was the real inventor of—" "Ye gods!" ejaculated the ambulance. "Another of 'em. I wonder how many thousand people invented the Tanks. They did splendid work but it's
a pity about their pedigree. It's a wise work, that knows its Own father."
"Well, that's not their fault," rePlied the car. "Anyhow, there's nothing, German about them, and they've had the roughest time of anyone." • "Perhaps," said the van, "and perhaps not. Now I venture to think that, what with shell-holes and long-range guns and all, my crowd has as good a claim. as most."
"Quite right," assented the van, in a rather patronizing tone. "Pretty well all our families have done their bit. Even the oId London bus thas made a good show. I suppose the enlys_people who haven't cut any ice at all are the motercahs. Profiteers, I call them. And they don't know what a real rough day's work means."
"I suppose you're right," remarked the bicycle. "But that old relic in the corner looks as if be had been through it. Come along, taxi, and tell us all about it."
"There's not much to tell," groaned the cab, in a husky voice. "The war was all right. I could pick and choose my fares, and make heaps of money out of .quite light work.
"On the morning of November the eleventh I can
truthfully say was in the pink of condition. Then. this neastly armistice came. Within an hour, I was the centre of a. howling mob. Give me war for. a peaceful life. Six hours ot peace did me more harm than four years of war. The maniacs swarmed all over me like bees. They beat me like a drum. Fourteen of them—men and girls—sat on my roof. Twelve more got inside. Seven perched on my bonnet. They all waved flags and shouted till I couldn't hear myself back-fire. I stood it till the afternoon, and then I lay down on my back axle and fainted. Lord! You people don't know what work is."
"And are you crocked for good?" inquired the cycle. "Serve him right if be is," interpolated the van. "Well, I hope not," wheezed the cab: "But I can tell you one thing. I've no intention of getting out in time for the peace celebrations, and, thank heaven, I'm off the road for the Christmas season, and par
ticularly for New Year's Eve." ARMADILLO.