“We’ll tell him to go to Waterloo,” said Sylvia. “Stations are always open; we can wait there till the morning and then look for a house.”
She hailed the cab; with sighs of relief they sank back upon the seat, exhausted. Presently an odd noise like a fishmonger’s smacking a cod could be heard beside the cab, and, leaning out over the apron to see what was the cause of it, Arthur was spattered with mud by a piece of the tire which was flogging the road with each revolution of the wheel. The driver pulled up and descended from the box to restrain it.
“I’ve been tying it up all day, but it will do it,” he complained. “There’s nothing to worry over, but it fidgets one, don’t it, flapping like that? I’ve tied it up with string and I’ve tied it up with wire, and last time I used my handkerchief. Now I suppose it’s got to be my bootlace. Well, here goes,” he said, and with many grunts he stooped over to undo his lace.
Neither Sylvia nor Arthur could ever say what occurred to irritate a horse that with equanimity had tolerated the flapping all day, but suddenly it leaped forward at a canter, while the loose piece of tire slapped the road with increasing rapidity and noise. The reins slipped down; and Sylvia, who had often been allowed to drive with Blanche, managed to gather them up and keep the horse more or less in the middle of the road. After the cab had traveled about a mile the tire that all day had been seeking freedom achieved its purpose and, lancing itself before the vehicle in a swift parabola, looped itself round the ancient ragman who was shuffling along the gutter in pursuit of wealth. The horse chose that moment to stop abruptly and an unpleasant encounter with the ragman seemed inevitable. Already he was approaching the cab, waving in angry fashion his spiked stick and swearing in a bronchial voice; he stopped his abuse, however, on perceiving the absence of the driver, and muttering to himself: “A lucky night, so help me! A lovely long strip of india-rubber! Gor! what a find!” he turned round and walked away as fast as he could, stuffing the tire into his basket as he went.
“I wonder whether I could drive the cab properly if I climbed up on the box,” said Sylvia, thoughtfully.
“Oh no! For goodness’ sake, don’t do anything of the kind!” Arthur begged. “Let’s get down while the beast is quiet. Come along. We shall never be able to explain why we’re in this cab. It’s like a dream.”
Sylvia gave way so far as not to mount the box, but she declined to alight, and insisted they ought to stay where they were and rest as long as they could; there were still a number of dark hours before them.
“But my dear girl, this beast of a horse may start off again,” Arthur protested.
“Well, what if it does?” Sylvia said. “We can’t be any more lost than we are now. I don’t know in the least what part of London we’ve got to.”
“I’m sure there’s something the matter with this cab,” Arthur woefully exclaimed.