It made no difference.  Mr. Lingnam could have federated the Empire from a tight rope.  He continued his oration at the wheel as we trundled.

’The danger to the Younger Nations is of being drawn into this vortex of Militarism,’ he went on, dodging the rear of the soldiery.

‘Slow past troops,’ I hinted.  ’It saves ’em dust.  And we overtake on the right as a rule in England.’

‘Thanks!’ Mr. Lingnam slued over.  ’That’s another detail which needs to be co-ordinated throughout the Empire.  But to go back to what I was saying.  My idea has always been that the component parts of the Empire should take counsel among themselves on the approach of war, so that, after we have decided on the merits of the casus belli, we can co-ordinate what part each Dominion shall play whenever war is, unfortunately, a possibility.’

We neared the hog-back railway bridge, and the hireling knocked piteously at the grade.  Mr. Lingnam changed gears, and she hoisted herself up to a joyous Youp-i-addy-i-ay! from the steam-organ.  As we topped the arch we saw a Foresters’ band with banners marching down the street.

‘That’s all very fine,’ said the Agent-General, ’but in real life things have a knack of happening without approaching—­’

* * * * *

(Some schools of Thought hold that Time is not; and that when we attain complete enlightenment we shall behold past, present, and future as One Awful Whole.  I myself have nearly achieved this.)

* * * * *

We dipped over the bridge into the village.  A boy on a bicycle, loaded with four paper bonnet-boxes, pedalled towards us, out of an alley on our right.  He bowed his head the better to overcome the ascent, and naturally took his left.  Mr. Lingnam swerved frantically to the right.  Penfentenyou shouted.  The boy looked up, saw the car was like to squeeze him against the bridge wall, flung himself off his machine and across the narrow pavement into the nearest house.  He slammed the door at the precise moment when the car, all brakes set, bunted the abandoned bicycle, shattering three of the bonnet-boxes and jerking the fourth over the unscreened dashboard into Mr. Lingnam’s arms.

There was a dead stillness, then a hiss like that of escaping steam, and a man who had been running towards us ran the other way.

‘Why!  I think that those must be bees,’ said Mr. Lingnam.

They were—­four full swarms—­and the first living objects which he had remarked upon all day.

Some one said, ‘Oh, God!’ The Agent-General went out over the back of the car, crying resolutely:  ‘Stop the traffic!  Stop the traffic, there!’ Penfentenyou was already on the pavement ringing a door-bell, so I had both their rugs, which—­for I am an apiarist—­I threw over my head.  While I was tucking my trousers into my socks—­for I am an apiarist of experience—­Mr. Lingnam