VAN OUT.

Dominion, Volume 22, Issue 72, 18 December 1928, Page 11 (Supplement)

VAN OUT.

By “0.8. L. in "The Motor.“Wliat are you doing to-morrow afternoon?” asked Jubb, buttonholing me in spite of my most earnest efforts to avoid him. I thought rapidly. “I’m going to tea with the Robinsons,” I said firmly, hoping he didn’t know they were away. “Splendid” he beamed. “They’re coming to tea with us, so you come along, too.” 'Of course the Robinsons weren’t there. Jubb (the liar!) knew as well as I did that they were at Harrogate; so, with true gentlemanly tact, neither of us mentioned them. However, there I was, according to plan—Jubb’s plan. “By the way,” he said casually, before I had sat down, “I wonder if you’d give me a hand with a little job?” “What is it?” I asked apprehensively, thinking too late of an ankle I might have sprained. “Well, the fact is, I’ve sold my caravan.” “Really?” I said with relief, remembering the Homeric struggle we had had in getting it into his orchard last spring. “Have much difficulty in getting it out?” “Well, point is, I haven’t, so to speak, got it out yet. The men are coming for it this evening, and I wondered if you’d give me a hand to get it to the gate before they turn up.” On our waj to the orchard I reminded myself absurdly of a Byzantine emperor being hauled behind a Babylonian king’s chariot; I also thought of several other words, in case of necessity. As it happened, my precautions were wasted, Mrs. Jubb being among those present, as also Miss Mabel Jubb, setat 10; and I may as well say here that a pleasant time was had by both, the occasion presenting unlimited opportunities for the proffering of useful advice. Jubb’s caravan is of the two-wheeled kind that you either pull along behind your car or, alternatively, if it has sunk too firmly in the soft ground, leave standing in the orchard. I perceived instantly that it had chosen the latter alternative. “Have you got the jacks, Alice?” Jubb demanded. Unfortunately Mrs. Jubb- had the jacks. “Now you jack her up at both sides,” ho instructed me, referring to the caravan, “while I got the car; then you put some boards under the wheels and I’ll back the car in and hitch up. and you knock the supports away and I’ll drive out.” Idiot! All went merry as a prison bell until I began to jack up the second side, when the whole monster, with a horrible. deliberate, heaving nose-dive, twisted off both jacks and sank back with a squelch into tier ruts. She did it again. At the third attempt 1 was foolhardy enough to lean my weight against her. whereupon she pushed me impatiently aside and my foot slipped into the rut along with the wheel, causing me excruciating pain. “You’ll never do it that way.” said Jubb. testily, jacking the wheel off me. He had been manmuvring the car. with a succession of four-inch jerks, backwards and forwards in the general direction of the caravan, and had carved four neat little valleys in the morass. “Poor Mr. Billo!” said Mabel. “It must have hurt dreadfully!” Nice child, Mabel! *- “Don’t you think.” suggested Mrs. Jubb. “if you . . . etc. At the next attempt the caravan remained partially emergent, and we turned our attention to the ear. To dig out both rear wheels, drape them with skid-chain, and back the bus inch by inch to fhe caravan was (according to Jubb’s prognostication) the work of a moment; actually it took two good hours of that mournful autumn afternoon. “Now. can you hitch up?” said Jubb. I hitched up. crushing my finger to the bone in the process. “Does it hurt, Mr. Billo?” Mabel asked, brightly. Fool of a child ! “Now. if you knock the supports away.” said Jubb. “I’ll start off.” I knocked the supports away and the caravan solemnly sat down on her stern, heaving the rear of the car almost off the ground. “If I were you.” observed Mrs. Jubb, “I should ...” ad lib. We seemed to be there permanently, but while I was stooping under the rear of the car to adjust a wandering festoon of skid-chain. Jubb. apparently as a forlorn hope, let in his clutch with a bang, and the end of the towing pole hooked into the back of my waistcoat and carried me long on two fours, as it were—hands on the ground and feet waving. Unfortunately. Mrs. Jubb and Mabel were too overcome with hilarity to inform Jubb for some moments “You did look funny, Mr. Billo!” Mabel gurgled. Abominable brat! I know no way of measuring a nightmare, but it was dusk when, having coaxed the pantechnicon inch by inch through the marsh. I unhitched it at the gate and stood flushed and dishevelled while Jubb greeted the men who had come to take it away. “What, brought it right out here?” said their spokesman pleasantly. “Why didn’t you leave it in the orchard, sir? We’d have had it out in two twos!” Help me to think of a word to apply to Jubb; something round and fullrowelled and hearty. Something appropriate and original. Something adequate.