"Well, I'm bothered if I haven't fallen again! I've fallen out, though."
Out of the depths: "Percival! Percival! Don't be such a silly little boy! Pull me out!"
"Well, I'm all mixed up in this awful trike, you know. Now, I'm up!"
"Pray pull me, then. I am retching with this noisome smell."
"Well, there's nothing to pull!" cries Percival, plunging round the tremendous stern that sticks out of the hedge. "Your trousers are simply tight!"
Out of the depths: "Tch! Tch! Push me sideways, then."
The mammoth stern is pushed sideways and hauled backways, and presently begins to rise, and presently the stout tutor is ponderously disgorged from the hedge, and staggers forth with grunts and moans, and collapses on the roadside, feet in ditch, very bedraggled and unfortunate looking.
"Don't think I'm laughing at you," Percival says. "I'm really very sorry for you. But you're not hurt, you know. Let me rub you down with leaves."
"I am terribly shaken. Do not touch me for a few minutes, please."
"Is the fly still in your eye?"