John Wentley Takes Charge 4

It's John Wentley Time!

“Don’t worry old chap!” was the reply. “You certainly did object at first, but it seemed to me that you changed your mind. Anyway, you took your coat off and came over here quite on your own. You’ve no need to get all bothered about it; you will not feel any effects at all, but you will enjoy a certain immunity from bother. Consider it an innoculation, protecting you from the drinking water in this place.” 

“Are you trying to tell me the water isn’t too good here?” demanded John. “If so, why didn’t you say so right away instead of beating about the bush? I’m not scared about it, but I would have agreed to your injection.” 

“You did,” pointed out Bill. “Still, we won’t argue about that. Come along, get your coat on, then we’ll have lunch. We’ll run your car off the road first, though.” 

They left the laboratory, Bill leading the way round the house out to the road by a side gate. 

“There’s my bus,” he stated, pointing to a tarpaulin-shrouded mass standing on a rough, grassy patch of ground inside the hedge. “Yours will be all right alongside it; I’ll let you have a canvas cover.” 

“Haven’t you got a garage, then?” inquired John. 

“No, not yet. I’ll tell you all about it when we get in. You’re just in time for the excitement. This your ‘buzz-wagon’? She’s a nice little machine, old man.” 

John warmed to the enthusiasm in his brother’s voice. His was a lovely little car. It was a new eight horse-power saloon, and he had just finished a careful run-in of a thousand miles. 

“Yes, she’s the goods!” he acknowledged. “Quite powerful enough for me, economical to run and, more important still, she’s very flexible and handy to manoeuvre. I touched sixty-five on the way here; it’s the first time I’ve put my foot down on the accelerator.” 

“Good! You must give me a run in her, John. I want a new car myself; I’ve been thinking of getting one of those, as a matter of fact. Run her in, old man.”

John complied, and for several minutes the brothers stood by the open bonnet, watching the engine ticking over, while John enumerated the car’s special points. Only the arrival of Mrs. Crockton to announce that lunch was ready and waiting, dragged them away.

Mind-controlling substances are just a minor inconvenience in the world of John Wentley, hardly  worth getting steamed up about. Our heroes have much more important things to interest them - cars.

John Wentely isn't the only one who's enthusiastic about his machinery here. JFC Westerman ramps his prose up another notch in the 'information is good' stakes.  John's car is powerful, economical to run, 'very flexible and handy to manoeuvre' and he tells his brother (and the reader) so in one quick info-burst. I wonder if these features will become important later in the story.

After that, they stand, entranced, watching the motor turn over, much as acolytes meditate on divine mysteries, before that spoilsport Mrs Crockton ruins the fun.

Dialogue Attribution Checklist: non-said - 6 ('was the reply', 'demanded', 'pointed out', 'stated', 'inquired', 'acknowledged'). Said - nil. Cumulative 'said' count for entire chapter so far - nil.

 

 

Right, I want my own copy now. It's just too much. Eight horse-power car! Man, what a chariot. JFC is certainly a master of that old old old writers adage, 'Don't SHOW what you can possibly TELL'. Simple times, hey? My favourite line was 'Well run your car off the road first, though.' Now they're sounding like me and my brothers after the Sunday barbie!