Free The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon by R. F. Delderfield Page B

summit would reveal a village, no matter how distant, when he heard the crazy rattle of the van behind him. Looking round he saw it starting to climb, a battered and heavily-laden station-wagon, proceeding at not much more than his own pace and making a great deal of fuss about it as it was slammed into low gear and coaxed forward by the man at the wheel.
    Mr. Sermon moved into the hedge to let it pass. He would liked to have called out or signalled to the driver but suddenly he felt self-conscious of his presence there at that time of day. He had plenty of time, however, to notice the eccentric appearance of the vehicle. It was, he would have judged, the bastard of a goods van. The chassis did not seem to be part of the general structure which had been added, not very expertly, from the remains of some other vehicle or vehicles. Its bodywork was a bilious yellow and its flat roof, fitted with a rack, was almost invisible under an assortment of household goods, all kinds of household goods, including a marble-topped washstand, two cane-bottomed chairs, a tatty-looking sofa and several copper pans tied on by the handles that boomed at every dip in the road. The back of the van presented an almost indecent appearance, for a bunch of chamber-pots were hanging from the handle of the door and these, looking like huge white pomegranates, chinked and pirouetted in an extraordinary manner presenting so compelling a spectacle that Mr. Sermon obtained no more than a glimpse of the inside of the van.
    It roared past him, shattering the peace of the morning like the passage of a juggernaut and then, breasting the slope, lurched to an uncertain standstill as the driver poked his head out of the window and called: "Going on to the main road? Want a lift, mate?" and Mr. Sermon waved his arms and began to run, uplifted not so much by the prospect of getting somewhere as by the chance this would offer for a closer inspection of the outfit.
    He was not prepared, however, for the risks he had to face in boarding the wagon. As he crossed the road, making for the nearside door of the driving cabin, the vehicle began to move backwards down the hill and the driver, clashing his gears, shouted: "Make it snappy! Make it snappy! The 'andbrake don't hold!" and began to
    lunge at the gear-lever like a swordsman battling for his life, while Mr. Sermon, one leg on the ground and one inside the cabin, had to hop for a clear ten yards before the gears engaged and the van began to grind forward again towards the crest of the hill.
    "Should have got her on the flat before I stopped!" said the driver, with a gap-toothed grin. "I c'n manage 'er empty but I got a good load on today. Is them jerries okay behind?"
    "Yes," said Mr. Sermon, breathlessly, "they seem to be managing and thank you for stopping, it's very good of you, I'm
    .it
    sure!
    The man looked at him with interest and Mr. Sermon looked back, thinking that the driver of this remarkable equipage exactly suited it for he was quite as outlandish as his vehicle. He was below medium height and as thin as a beanpole, with a largish head crowned by a pork-pie hat green with age. His face was broad and his expression genial, advertised as it was by the wide gap in his front teeth. His eyes, brown, tolerant and humorous, were very restless and he had the pallor of a city-dweller. His accent Mr. Sermon placed as somewhere between Hammersmith and Barnes, with Hounslow as its extreme limit. His hands were large and capable and Mr. Sermon noted this with relief for he had very little confidence in the van but decided that although it might get up to all manner of tricks this little man was more than a match for it, giving it plenty of rope but calling it to order when necessary.
    "Made an early start, didn't you?" said the man amiably.
    "From the station back there, I couldn't get any further last night," explained Mr. Sermon. "I was hoping to find somewhere for breakfast, I'm absolutely starving! You . . . you