“Wasn’t Bill grumbling about his tire this morning?”
“I don’t know if it was his tire; he was grumbling about something.”
“I reckon it’s Bill. Did you notice if the gentleman as drove you had a swelling behind his ear?” asked the man who had first propounded the theory of the missing driver’s being Bill.
“I didn’t notice,” said Sylvia.
“About the size of a largish potato?” the theorist pressed, encouragingly.
“I’m afraid I didn’t notice,” said Sylvia.
“It must be Bill,” the theorist decided. “Any one wouldn’t notice that swelling in the dark, ’specially if Bill had his collar turned up.”
“He did have his collar turned up,” Arthur put in.
“There you are,” said the theorist. “What did I tell you? Of course it’s Bill. No one wouldn’t see his swelling with his coat turned up. Poor old Bill, he won’t half swear when he has to walk home to-night. Here, Joe,” he went on, addressing the attending tout. “Give Bill’s horse a bit of a feed.”
Sylvia and Arthur were given large slices of bread and butter and large cups of coffee; Maria had a saucer of milk. Life was looking much more cheerful. Presently a burly cabman appeared in the entrance of the shelter and was greeted with shouts of merriment.