Lost trumpet

THE LOST TRUMPET 65
the little Georgios from his perch. His caged fowls
screeched. So did Georgios. Leaning down, cling¬
ing to an out-jutting leg of furniture, he cursed the
driver resourcefully. We drove up and stopped.
“What is wrong ?” I asked the driver, a labourer
who bore the heroic name of Kalaun. He had dis¬
mounted and was peering under the bonnet of the
Leyland. He grinned sheepishly, looking sideways
at the other two labourers who had occupied the
seat with him. There was silence until Georgios,
craning perilously over the front of the vehicle’
explained scornfully :
Messieurs, the man is a fool, as were doubtlessly
his parents—if ever he had any. They brought
he and the others—the pail of tea with them, and to
keep it warm placed it inside the bonnet. Now it is
spilled and the engine refuses to function.,,
“Is this the case ?” I asked Kalaun. He grinned
again, exasperatingly. Huebsch, Marrot and I
descended and inspected the damage. I had cer¬
tainly seen a cleaner engine. Huebsch looked at it
carefully, looked consideringly at Kalaun, opened
his lips to speak, and was at once forestalled by
Marrot. 1
“No, you don’t, Huebsch. Cut it out. He didn’t
know any better. How the hell can you expect him
to ? Pay him starvation wages and expect expert
inechanical skill—!” He snorted angrily and took
oft his jacket. “Damn nonsense.”
Huebsch shook his head. “Well, well, I wasn’t
going to slate the boy, so what’s the fuss ?”