He had imagined them speeding after him in a huge
motor-bus, and himself keeping them at bay with lumps of coal.
But gradually he realized that the Bishop would not further
jeopardize his dignity, or run the risk of making himself
ridiculous. Mr. Poodle would undoubtedly set the township road
commissioner on his trail, and he would be liable to seizure for
the theft of a steam roller. But that could hardly happen so
quickly. In the meantime, a plan had been forming in his mind,
but it would require darkness for its execution.
Darkness did not delay in coming. As he jolted cheerfully from
road to road, holding up long strings of motors at every corner
while he jovially held out his arm as a sign that he was going to
turn, dark purple clouds were massing and piling up. Foreseeing a
storm, he bought some provisions at a roadhouse, and turned into
a field, where he camped in the lee of a forest of birches. He
cooked himself an excellent supper, toasting bread and
frankfurters in the firebox of the roller.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180