“Well I don’t advise you to go on up over the downs at this time of night.”
If only she had not come in she could have gone on without knowing it was “the downs.”
“My front tyre is punctured” she said conversationally, leaning a little against the counter.
The man’s face tightened. “There’s Mr. Drake next door would mend that for you in the morning.”
“Next door. Oh, thank you.” Pushing her sixpence under the rail she went down the shop to the door seeing nothing but the brown dusty floor leading out to the helpless night.
Why did he keep making such impossible suggestions? The tyre was absolutely flat. How much would a hotel cost? How did you stay in hotels ... hotels ... her hands went busily to her wallet. She drew out the repair outfit and Mr. Leyton’s voice sounded, emphatic and argumentative “You know where you are and they don’t rook you.” There was certain to be one in a big town like this. She swished back into the shop and interrupted the man with her eager singing question.
“Yes” came the answer, “there’s a quiet place of that sort up the road, right up against the Forest.”
“Has my telegram gone? Can I alter it?”
“No, it’s not gone, you’re just in time.”
It was the loveliest thing that could have happened. The day was complete, from morning to night.