nodded, hypnotised by his quiet certainty.
‘Well, I can do it with anything. Mr Hale said …’
‘Mr Hale?’
‘Yes, I’ve been meaning to tell you …’
‘Tell me what?’ Mrs Whitley drew back suspiciously but Meg, Tom and Emm leaned closer, mesmerised by this incredible scene they were witnessing. Martin continued to kneel at Mrs Whitley’s feet, speaking to them all really, but his eyes never left the cook’s face and she felt the power in him and knew there would be no stopping him, ever! Whatever he did, now or in the future, he would not be stopped!
‘He has the bicycle shop at the corner of Victoria Street. I’ve been helping him out …’
‘… and you never told us!’ Meg was affronted but again Mrs Whitley turned on her sharply, telling her to hold her tongue.
‘Go on, lad, helping him out?’
‘In my own time, Mrs Whitley. Instead of going to the sporting club … whenever I had an hour free … I met him at the club, Mr Hale I mean … he plays billiards there and when I told him about …’
‘What, lad?’
‘That I liked … loved machinery … bicycles … the internal combustion engine …’
‘The internal …!’ Mrs Whitley could only gasp on the unfamiliar words.
‘Yes … the horseless carriage, you know … you’ve seen them in town …’ Martin shook her hands impatiently.
‘God save us all!’
‘Well, he said I could give him a hand in his shop and I did and he said I was wasted here.’
‘Wasted! Now see here, young man!’
‘… and that I could go to night school and learn it properly. I’ve got a knack, he said. It’s coming, he said …’
‘What is?’
‘The motor car, not just for them with money but for us all and so I want to be in on it, Mrs Whitley, by God I do. It’s 1903 and before this decade is over we shall see the roads crammed with them. There’s already more than eight thousand of them! Think of that, Mrs Whitley!’ His voice was filled with awe, ‘and the speed they go now that the Motor Car Act has been passed … twenty miles an hour, can you imagine it?’
Mrs Whitley couldn’t, not having the slightest conception of what he was talking about and neither could Emm but Tom and Meg, as enthusiastic as the young are about anything which might bring excitement and colour into their lives, became flushed with Martin’s own triumph and they jostled with one another to hear the better.
‘They have to have a registration number now,’ Martin explained eagerly, ‘so that those who break the law can be identified and prosecuted …’
‘Prosecuted.’ Mrs Whitley said feebly.
‘It’s not just a hobby any more, you see, like sailing or … or such like. It used to be a toy for the well-to-do but not any more. Oh no! Everyone will have one some day but before they can someone has to get the design perfected …’
‘Perfected …’ Meg breathed reverently.
‘… so that they can be turned out cheaply …’
‘D’you mean chaps like you and me will be able to have one?’ Tom’s expression was disbelieving.
‘Oh yes, and all the …’
‘But what about the roads? Will there be enough room on them for everyone?’
‘That will come, with time …’
‘Yes, but who’s going to make all these motor cars …’
Meg’s eyes gazed wonderingly at Martin and in the midst of his jubilant elation he found himself staring in quite the most fascinated manner at the moist curve of her open pink mouth. She had licked her lips with her little tongue leaving them shining and … and …
He cleared his throat and tore his gaze away.
‘We are!’ His voice sounded strangely husky.
‘We? Who’s we?’
‘Well, me for one!’
‘What do you know about it?’ Tom’s voice was derisive and Mrs Whitley snorted as though in agreement. He was but a lad, her expression said with a lad’s big ideas and if he didn’t give over and get down to the job he had he might find himself without one altogether. But Martin Hunter had
‘Well, I can do it with anything. Mr Hale said …’
‘Mr Hale?’
‘Yes, I’ve been meaning to tell you …’
‘Tell me what?’ Mrs Whitley drew back suspiciously but Meg, Tom and Emm leaned closer, mesmerised by this incredible scene they were witnessing. Martin continued to kneel at Mrs Whitley’s feet, speaking to them all really, but his eyes never left the cook’s face and she felt the power in him and knew there would be no stopping him, ever! Whatever he did, now or in the future, he would not be stopped!
‘He has the bicycle shop at the corner of Victoria Street. I’ve been helping him out …’
‘… and you never told us!’ Meg was affronted but again Mrs Whitley turned on her sharply, telling her to hold her tongue.
‘Go on, lad, helping him out?’
‘In my own time, Mrs Whitley. Instead of going to the sporting club … whenever I had an hour free … I met him at the club, Mr Hale I mean … he plays billiards there and when I told him about …’
‘What, lad?’
‘That I liked … loved machinery … bicycles … the internal combustion engine …’
‘The internal …!’ Mrs Whitley could only gasp on the unfamiliar words.
‘Yes … the horseless carriage, you know … you’ve seen them in town …’ Martin shook her hands impatiently.
‘God save us all!’
‘Well, he said I could give him a hand in his shop and I did and he said I was wasted here.’
‘Wasted! Now see here, young man!’
‘… and that I could go to night school and learn it properly. I’ve got a knack, he said. It’s coming, he said …’
‘What is?’
‘The motor car, not just for them with money but for us all and so I want to be in on it, Mrs Whitley, by God I do. It’s 1903 and before this decade is over we shall see the roads crammed with them. There’s already more than eight thousand of them! Think of that, Mrs Whitley!’ His voice was filled with awe, ‘and the speed they go now that the Motor Car Act has been passed … twenty miles an hour, can you imagine it?’
Mrs Whitley couldn’t, not having the slightest conception of what he was talking about and neither could Emm but Tom and Meg, as enthusiastic as the young are about anything which might bring excitement and colour into their lives, became flushed with Martin’s own triumph and they jostled with one another to hear the better.
‘They have to have a registration number now,’ Martin explained eagerly, ‘so that those who break the law can be identified and prosecuted …’
‘Prosecuted.’ Mrs Whitley said feebly.
‘It’s not just a hobby any more, you see, like sailing or … or such like. It used to be a toy for the well-to-do but not any more. Oh no! Everyone will have one some day but before they can someone has to get the design perfected …’
‘Perfected …’ Meg breathed reverently.
‘… so that they can be turned out cheaply …’
‘D’you mean chaps like you and me will be able to have one?’ Tom’s expression was disbelieving.
‘Oh yes, and all the …’
‘But what about the roads? Will there be enough room on them for everyone?’
‘That will come, with time …’
‘Yes, but who’s going to make all these motor cars …’
Meg’s eyes gazed wonderingly at Martin and in the midst of his jubilant elation he found himself staring in quite the most fascinated manner at the moist curve of her open pink mouth. She had licked her lips with her little tongue leaving them shining and … and …
He cleared his throat and tore his gaze away.
‘We are!’ His voice sounded strangely husky.
‘We? Who’s we?’
‘Well, me for one!’
‘What do you know about it?’ Tom’s voice was derisive and Mrs Whitley snorted as though in agreement. He was but a lad, her expression said with a lad’s big ideas and if he didn’t give over and get down to the job he had he might find himself without one altogether. But Martin Hunter had
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