It was Mr.Purcey driving his A.i.Damyer back to Wimbledon.
Before him in the sunlight a little shadow fled; behind him the reek of petrol seemed to darken the road.
"There's a symbol for you," muttered Hilary.
"How do you mean ?" said Stephen dryly.

The word "symbol" was distasteful to him.
"The machine in the middle moving on its business; shadows like you and me skipping in front; oil and used-up stuff dropping behind.
Society-body, beak, and bones." Stephen took time to answer.

"That's rather far-fetched," he said.

"You mean these Hughs and people are the droppings ?" "Quite so," was Hilary's sardonic answer.

"There's the body of that fellow and his car between our sort and them--and no getting over it, Stevie." "Well, who wants to?
If you're thinking of our old friend's Fraternity, I'm not taking any." And Stephen suddenly added: "Look here, I believe this affair is all 'a plant.'" "You see that Powder Magazine ?" said Hilary.