The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists
brake was too drunk to understand what they said, he took no notice, and they had no alternative but to increase their own speed to avoid being run down. The drunken driver now began to imagine that they were trying to race him, and became fired with the determination to pass them. It was a very narrow road, but there was just about room to pass, and he had sufficient confidence in his own skill with the ribands to believe that he could do it.
The terrified gesticulations and the shouts of Rushton's party only served to infuriate him. He stood up on the foot board and lashed the horses till they almost flew over the ground, while the brake swayed and skidded appallingly.
In front, the horses of Rushton's conveyance were also galloping at top speed, the vehicle bounding and reeling from one side of the road to the other, whilst its occupants, with panic-stricken faces, sat clinging to their seats and to each other, looking back with terror at their pursuers, who were encouraging the drunken driver and urging on the horses with curses and yells.
However, notwithstanding his frantic efforts, the driver was unable to overtake the smaller vehicle, and when the hill to Windley was reached he reluctantly abandoned the race, while Rushton and his friends, without waiting to say goodnight, drove off towards Mugsborough as fast as they could.
Crass's brake halted at the summit for the arrival of the others, and then amid shouts of 'good night!' and 'don't forget six o'clock Monday morning' the bean-feasters dispersed and the great event of the year was over.
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