the big shiny silver Rolls-Royce had braked suddenly and come to a stop right alongside the filling-station. Behind the wheel i could see the enormous pink beery face of Mr victor Hazell staring at the pheasants. I could see the mouth hanging open, the eyes bulging out of his head like toadstools and the skin of his face turning from pink to bright scarlet. the car door opened and out he came, resplendent in fawn-coloured riding-breeches and high polishes boots. There was a yellow silk scarf with red dots on it round his neck, and he had a sort of bowler hat on his head. the great shooting party was about to begin and he was on his way to greet the guests.
He left the door of the Rolls open and came at us like a charging bull. My father, Doc Spencer and I stood close together in a little group, waiting for him. He started shouting at us the moment he got out of the car, and he went on shouting for a long time after that. I am sure you would like to know what he said, but I cannot possibly repeat it here. The language he used was so foul and filthy it scorched my earholes. Words came out of his mouth that I had never heard before and hope never to hear again. Little flecks of white foam began forming around his lips and running down his chin on to the yellow silk scarf.
I glanced at my father. He was standing very still and very calm, waiting for the shouting to finish. The colour was back in his cheeks now and I could see the tiny twinkling wrinkles of a smile around the corners of his eyes.