Hoots We were coming along the Brompton Road the other
evening in heavy traffic .when the car in front suddenly stopped. So did we, just in time, and the car behind us, and so on, bumper to bumper. A leggy girl with a pretty face got out, shut the door and, with her hands rc.oing, on it, began a last-minute chat with the driver through the window. One could hear her going quack-quack-quack like Lucretia Bodger le Trog's latest saga. At length my companion, a patient person, who was driving, ventured 3 small peep on the horn which set off a greater blasting behind, all along the line. The girl turned her face abstractedly towards us for a second, and then finished her quacking in a leisurely and wholly self-possessed way. At length she straightened up and walked along the pavement past us all, and as she walked she screwed up her pale and pretty model's face and stuck out her tongue as far as it would go. It was a grotesque sight which cheered us uP immensely, but it didn't exactly compare with a riposte I'd heard earlier in the day at St. Giles Circus. A man was stuck behind a woman Oho couldn't get her engine started, and he helpfully kept his hand on the horn. The longer he blasted, the more she fell into paralysing fuss. A workman came across to the kerb and called out to the man: "Ere, why don't you try starting 'er motor and let 'er 'oot your 'ooter?'
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