Lost trumpet

66
THE LOST TRUMPET
Marrot had turned his back on us. Huebsch con¬
sidered that back carefully, and, as it seemed to me,
compassionately. Mystified, I went to the assistance
of Marrot.
At length, after much expenditure of rags and
much sluicing with ill-to-be-spared water, we had
the engine cleansed and restarted. Kalaun and his
sheepish companions resumed their seats. We did
the same in the Darracq. The lorry jerked forward,
paused consideringly in a fashion that was somehow
reminiscent of Huebsch himself, and then, gathering
speed, fled in advance of us at such rate as caused
Georgios and his chickens to oscillate wildly.
Huebsch chuckled.
“Better get down to it, Marrot. Else we’ll not be
in time even to hear the dying wishes of your
protege.”
The Darracq fled in pursuit. I turned to Huebsch.
“This incident—Kalaun and his fellow tea-
drinkers. What did Mr. Marrot fear ? It would have
been well for Kalaun to be rated in the matter.”
The great Jew beside me sighed ponderously,
settling himself in a greater comfort. “I know.
Done the boy a power of good. But Marrot won’t
hear of that kind of thing—not even though it was
to save his own life five minutes later. You see, he’s
obsessed with the cruelty of employers to employed.
He had some pretty shocking experiences of it him¬
self in the war—he enlisted as a private in the army.
And he’s never forgotten that thin time. I’ve seen
him look murder at a man speaking sharply to a