“Is there a post-office here?” I asked the man.  “Or a horse?”

“There might be a horse at the ‘Lion.’  There’s no post-office.”

“Well, I suppose I could wire to Brookfield Station from here?”

“Not to Brookfield.”

“But supposing you want to tell the station-master there that the train’s off the line, or that you’ve won the first prize at the Flower Show in the vegetable class, how would you do it?”

“Brookfield’s not on this line.  That’s why you’ve got to pay three shill—­”

“Yes, yes.  You said all that.  Then I shall go and explore the village.”

I explored, as Napoleon would have done, and I came back with a plan.

“There is no horse,” I said to my eager audience; “but I have found a bicycle.  The landlady of the ‘Lion’ will be delighted to look after Beatrice and the baby, and will give her tea; John will stay here with the bags in case the wagonette turns up, and I will ride to Brookfield and summon help.”

“That’s all right,” said John, “only I would suggest that I go to the ‘Lion’ and have tea, and Beatrice and the child—­”

We left him in disgust at his selfishness.  I established the ladies at the inn, mounted the bicycle, and rode off.  It was a windy day, and I had a long coat and a bowler hat.  After an extremely unpleasant two miles something drove past me.  I lifted up my head and looked round.  It was the wagonette.

I rode back behind it in triumph.  When it turned up the road to the station, I hurried straight on to the “Lion” to prepare Beatrice.  I knocked, and peered into rooms, and knocked again, and at last the landlady came.

“Er—­is the lady—­”

“Oh, she’s gone, sir, a long time ago.  A gentleman she knew drove past, and she asked him to give her a lift home in his trap.  She was going to tell the other gentleman, and he’d wait for you.”

“Oh yes.  That’s all right.”

I returned my bicycle to its owner, distributed coppers to his children, and went up to the station.  The porter came out to meet me.  He seemed surprised.

“The gentleman thought you wouldn’t be coming back, sir, as you didn’t come with the wagonette.”

“I just went up to the ’Lion’—­”

“Yessir.  Well, he drove off quarter of an hour ago; said it was no good waiting for you, as you’d ride straight ’ome when you found at Brookfield that the wagonette ’ad come.”

And now I ask you—­What would Napoleon have said?

THE PORTUGUESE CIGAR

Everything promised well for my week-end with Charles.  The weather was warm and sunny, I was bringing my golf clubs down with me, and I had just discovered (and meant to put into practice) an entirely new stance which made it impossible to miss the object ball.  It was this that I was explaining to Charles and his wife at dinner on Friday, when the interruption occurred.