The other Sunday afternoon I rode over on my bicycle to see the
Robinsons. They live seven miles away. Tomkins and others were there.
People who live in remote country places always seem pleased to see a
fellow creature, but Robinson and his wife are unusually hospitable and
good-natured. After I had had some tea, and thought of leaving, a
hobnail was discovered in the tyre of Tomkin's bicycle. He, being very
athletic, was playing croquet, a game which requires vast muscular
strength. However, he said that his tyres were something quite new, and
that in one minute one man, or even one child, could stick one
postage-stamp, or anything of the sort, over that puncture and mend it.
So all the rest of us and the butler, principally the butler, who is an
expert in bicycles, went at it vigorously, and after we had all worked
for nearly an hour the tyre was patched up, and Tomkins, having finished
his game, rode coolly away. I was going to do the same, but Robinson
wouldn't hear of it--I must stay to dinner. I said I had no lamp for
riding home in the dark. He would lend me his. I said I should have to
dine in knickerbockers. That didn't matter in the country. So I stayed
till 9.30.
The next Sunday I rode over again. I started directly after lunch, lest
I should seem to have come to dinner, and I gave the butler that lamp
directly I arrived. But it was all no good, for I stayed till 10, and
had to borrow it again. "Bring it back to-morrow morning," said
Robinson, "and help us with our hay-making." Again dined in
knickerbockers.
On Monday I resolved to be firm. I would leave by daylight. Rode over
early. After some indifferent hay-making and some excellent lunch, I
tried to start. No good. Robinson carried me off to a neighbour's
tennis-party. After we returned from that, he said I must have some
dinner. Couldn't ride home all those seven miles starving.
Knickerbockers didn't matter. Again dined there and rode home at 10.30.
So I still have Robinson's lamp. Now I want to know how I am going to
get it back to his house.
If I have it taken by anybody else he will think I don't care to come,
which would be quite a mistake. Have vowed that I will not dine there
again except in proper clothes. If I cross his hospitable threshold,
even before breakfast, I shall never get away before bedtime. Can't ride
seven miles in evening dress before breakfast even in the country.
Besides, whatever clothes I wore, I should never be able to leave by
daylight. I should still have his lamp. Can't take a second lamp. Would
look like inviting myself to dinner. So would the evening clothes at
breakfast. What is to be done?
* * * * *
Illustration: THE RETORT CURTEOUS.--_Motorist_ (_cheerfully--to
fellow-guest in house party_). "What luck? Killed anything?"
_Angler_ (_bitterly_). "No. Have you?"
* * * * *
Illustration: _Vicar's Daughter._ "Oh, Withers, your mistress tells me
you are saving up to take a little shop and look after your mother. I
think it is such a sweet idea!"
_Withers._ "Well, yes, miss, I did think of it; but now I've got the
money I've changed my mind, and I'm going to buy myself one of these
'ere bicycles instead!"
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