ciler of opposites, bent on
knocking our heads together, would have had an easy task, for there was
not more than eight inches between them. Misfortunes are said to bring
out the fragrance of noble natures, and I can testify that the wetting
these men had received most effectually brought out the fragrance of
theirs. And the ventilation was none too good.

The language in which the newcomers proceeded to introduce themselves
was not of the kind usually printed, though it had a distinctly
theological tinge. More strenuous blasphemy I have never heard on
land--or sea.

The introductions concluded--they were sufficient--Macbeth, as though
suddenly recollecting an interrupted train of thought, broke out: "Say,
mister, did yer see them two go by on bicycles just now?"

"Yes."

"Well, I see 'em, quarter of a mile oop the road, crouching oonder
t'hedge"--he spoke Yorkshire[4]--"wet to skin, and she nowt on but a
cotton blouse. So I sez to her, 'My dear, ye'll get yer death o' cold,'
'Yes,' she says, 'and me with a weak chest.' Pore young thing, I'm fair
sorry for her. I towd t'young man to tek his co-at off and put it
ra-ownd her. 'That'll do no good,' he sez; 'she's wet through a'ready.'
'Well,' I sez, 'she's not been wet through all her life, has she? Why
didn't you put it on her while she were dry? Sense? You've got no more
sense nor a blind rabbit.' But it was no good. My! What rain! Nivver see
nothing like it. They'll be fair drownded. I think I'll go and fetch 'em
in. Holy potatoes!" (Will anyone explain this expression? It was evoked
by a crash of thunder which burst immediately above the box and seemed
to hurl us into space.)

[Footnote 4: The reader who would get the full flavour of Macbeth's
conversation should translate it, if he can, into a broad Yorkshire
dialect. This I have indicated here and there by the spelling of a word,
which is as far as, or perhaps farther than, my own competence extends.]

"No good fetching 'em in now," I replied, taking a point of view which I
afterwards saw to have been that of the Priest and the Levite. "They'd
suffer more damage getting here than staying where they are. Besides,
where would you put 'em?"

"That's trew," said Macbeth. "This ain't no place for ladies, anyhow."
(It wasn't!) "But just think of that pore young thing--nowt on, I tell
yer, but a cotton blouse. Hello! there's a cart coming. I'll tell t'man
to tek 'em oop."

Out jumped Macbeth into the pelting rain,