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!"
Illustration: A STORY WITHOUT WORDS
Illustration: THE INFERENCE.--Giles (who has been rendering "first aid" to wrecked motor-cyclist). "Naw, marm, I doan't think as 'e be a married man, 'cos 'e says this be the worst thing wot 'as ever 'appened to un!"
Illustration: SAVING THE SITUATION
Effie (to whom a motor-brougham is quite a novelty). "Oh, mummy dear, look! There's a footman and a big coachman on the box, and there isn't a horse or even a pony! What are they there for?"
Mummy dear (not well versed in electricity and motor-mechanism). "Well, you see, Effie dear--the--(by a happy inspiration) but, dear, you're not old enough to understand."
The Daily Mail has discovered that the "Motor-Cough" is "caused by the minute particles of dust raised by motor-cars which lodge themselves in the laryngeal passage." If people will use their gullets as garages, what can they expect?
Illustration: Horsey Wag (to Mr. and Mrs. Tourey, who are walking up a hill). "And do you always take your cycles with you when you go for a walk?"
IN EAST DORSETSHIRE.--Cyclist (to Native). How many miles am I from Wimborne?
Native. I dunno.
Cyclist. Am I near Blandford?
Native. I dunno.
Cyclist (angrily). Then what do you know?
Native. I dunno.
[Cyclist speeds to No Man's Land in the New Forest.
