Free Between Friends by Audrey Howard Page A

and their gas powered ‘buggy’, Alexander Winton who, in 1899 had managed an average speed of seventeen miles an hour between Cleveland and New York, a distance of eight hundred miles in eleven days, and Frederick William Lanchester, one of the Englishmen who were already producing a commercial automobile in this country!
    They were his heroes now and those of his football days, his
young
days, were forgotten and he could not wait to become one of them though how this was to be done was not yet clear to him. But he would and he said so frequently until, exasperated, Tom asked him how?
    ‘I don’t know,’ Martin shrugged carelessly, ‘but I will, don’t you fret.’ His voice was confident, arrogant with the certainty of youth. ‘I understand them, Tom. They speak to me.’ He was not ashamed to say the words which sounded fanciful and made Tom smile. ‘They do! I’ve always known how the steam engine works. Times I’ve been down to Lime Street railway station and watched them get up steam, I could damn near do it myself and when I go to Mr Hale’s repair shop – he’s tackling a few motor cars now, did I tell you? – and see him stripping down an internal combustion engine I can put the thing back together quicker than he can. He stands there scratching his head, wondering what the hell to do with it but
I know
. Don’t ask me how but I do and he says I’ve … I’ve got a … a feeling …’
    Martin was serious with an intensity within him which often irritated his two companions but today, in the carefree joyousness which infected Meg and Tom he forgot, for the moment, his own passionate concern with the future and he and Meg began to push their way back through the good natured crowd. Several others had taken courage from Tom’s camaraderie and were stepping out beside him. He saw Martin and Meg and lifted his hand to wave and on his face was an expression, laughing, which said quite plainly he had not the slightest notion of how he came to be in this situation, but
they
knew, for it was Tom’s nature to hold out the hand of good-fellowship and his gift to have it taken! He grinned, his mouth stretching over his white teeth. He looked down in to the face of the grandmother and said something to her, then placing her, cackling joyously into another’s arms, walked purposefully towards Meg. He stopped in front of her.
    ‘Meggie?’ he said airily, questioningly, holding out his arms. She did not hesitate but moved into them delightedly and in a moment they were whirling about the growing circle of admirers for indeed they made a handsome sight, her bright loveliness sharpened by his own golden good looks.
    Feet stamping, hands clapping, men whistling, the sun brilliant in the pale washed blue of the spring sky and as they galloped by with more enthusiasm than grace for the third time, Martin, the bicycle shop forgotten in the unexpected pleasure of the moment, threw out a hand and grasped Meg’s arm and turning her about plucked her from Tom’s vigorous clasp.
    ‘My turn now, Meggie!’ he shouted above the din and his strong arm held her to him and his big workman’s hand, rough and brown and still stained with the deep grained oil with which they were everlastingly occupied, took hers and in a mad echo of a lively reel they jostled their way round and round the circle.
    Tom, never one to hang back and wait his turn had found a pretty, flower bonneted young girl to partner him in the music and the amiable, hail-fellow-well-met atmosphere instilled into the assembly gathered momentum and smile was returned with smile and lovers exchanged a kiss or two under cover of the joyous dance.
    Martin’s arm tightened about Meg and his long legs carried her even more rapidly through the sun-dappled crowd and his eyes beamed glowingly into hers and she was conscious only of how happy she felt and how wonderful the day was. She threw back her head and her boater fell to her shoulder blades held on by the