I gets down to lave a look--lights a gasper*--an' takes my bloomin' time about it.

You seen them yellow curs there by Lazarus' tomb?
Well, they come for me, yappin' an' snarlin' to beat 'ell.

I'm pickin' up stones to break their 'eads with--good stones ain't such easy findin' in the dark, an' every time I stoops 'alf a dozen curs makes a rush for me--when what d'you suppose?
That bloomin' Harab passenger o' mine vaults over into my seat, an' afore I could say ''ell's bells' 'e's off.

I'd left the engine runnin'.

By the luck o' the Lord I 'angs on, an' scrambles in--back seat.