al iniquity and licentiousness, and an
attempt on Brookfield's part to borrow some thousands of pounds for his
"lordly" patron from Helmsley, had resulted in the latter giving the
would-be borrower's go-between such a strong piece of his mind as he was
not likely to forget. And now Helmsley was naturally annoyed to find
that these two abandoned rascals were staying at the very inn where he,
in his character of a penniless wayfarer, had hoped to pass a peaceful
night; however, he resolved to avoid all danger and embarrassment by
leaving the place directly he had finished his supper, and going in
search of some more suitable lodgment. Meanwhile, the hum of
conversation grew louder around him, and opinion ran high on the subject
of "the right of the road."

"The roads are made for the people, sure-_ly_!" said one of a group of
men standing near the largest table in the room--"And the people 'as the
right to 'xpect safety to life an' limb when they uses 'em."

"Well, the motors can put forward the same claim," retorted another.
"Motor folks are people too, an' they can say, if they likes, that if
roads is made for people, they're made for _them_ as well as t' others,
and they expects to be safe on 'em with their motors at whatever pace
they travels."

"Go 'long!" exclaimed the cattle-driver, who had before taken part in
the discussion--"Aint we got to take cows an' sheep an' 'osses by the
road? An' if a car comes along at the rate o' forty or fifty miles an
hour, what's to be done wi' the animals? An' if they're not to be on the
road, which way is they to be took?"

"Them motors ought to have roads o' their own like the railways," said a
quiet-looking grey-haired man, who was the carrier of the district.
"When the steam-engine was invented it wasn't allowed to go tearin'
along the public highway. They 'ad to make roads for it, an' lay tracks,
and they should do the same for motors which is gettin' just as fast an'
as dangerous as steam-engines."

"Yes, an' with makin' new roads an' layin' tracks, spoil the country for
good an' all!" said the man in corduroys--"An' alter it so that there
aint a bit o' peace or comfort left in the land! Level the hills an' cut
down the trees--pull up the hedges an' scare away all the singin' birds,
till the hull place looks like a football field!--all to please a few
selfish rich men who'd be better dead than livin'! A fine thing for
England that would be!"

At that moment, there was t