“But I haven’t ridden for years.”
“Then it’s high time you began again.”
“I’ve probably forgotten how to ride.”
“You’ll soon get the knack after you’ve taken a toss or two. Trial and
error. The only way.”
“But it’s miles to Kingham.”
“So the sooner you’re off, the better.”
“But----”
“Bertie, dear.”
“But, dash it----”
“Bertie, darling.”
“Yes, but dash it----”
“Bertie, my sweet.”
And so it was arranged. Presently I was moving sombrely off through the
darkness, Jeeves at my side, Aunt Dahlia calling after me something
about trying to imagine myself the man who brought the good news from
Ghent to Aix. The first I had heard of the chap.
“So, Jeeves,” I said, as we reached the shed, and my voice was cold
and bitter, “this is what your great scheme has accomplished! Tuppy,
Angela, Gussie and the Bassett not on speaking terms, and self faced
with an eight-mile ride----”
“Nine, I believe, sir.”
“--a nine-mile ride, and another nine-mile ride back.”
“I am sorry, sir.”
“No good being sorry now. Where is this foul bone-shaker?”
“I will bring it out, sir.”
He did so. I eyed it sourly.
“Where’s the lamp?”
“I fear there is no lamp, sir.”
“No lamp?”
“No, sir.”
“But I may come a fearful stinker without a lamp. Suppose I barge into
something.”