There was a logo too: a little man in overalls with a stethoscope around his neck for auscultating the Wankel engine.’ The eponym, skilfully inserted into the flow of the conversation, went unremarked. ‘Dr Exhaust, then, strictly speaking.’ ‘Perhaps he was a surgeon.’ ‘Mr X-haust,’ said Merle. ‘It’s quaintly polite. If he got into the newspapers these days, they’d call him plain old X-haust.’ ‘Well, it struck me as odd at the time. As if the title alone rendered the enterprise reliable. Not Bertie X-haust, or X-haust and Co, but Mr X-haust. An exhaust man of the old school, someone you could trust to tinker with your manifold.’ ‘It’s better than Uncle,’ said Spilkin. ‘You’ve got an uncle in the furniture business.’ ‘Or “Oom”, which one also comes across.’ ‘The extraordinary thing is how it caught on. The next year there were half a dozen copycats in the directory: Mr Frosty – an ice-cream maker – Mr Ladder, Mr Plastic, Mr Sweets.
