We waited a few minutes uncertain what to do, till presently a cab came in sight, the horse walking leisurely and the cabby evidently on the look-out for a fare.
"Cabby! cabby!" I called, and Lionel added his shrill voice to mine.
The cabman looked about in bewilderment.
"Here, by the Park gates!" I yelled, and he got down from his seat and came over to where we were standing.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he exclaimed when he had had a good look at us. "What the Dickens are you? Kids or dwarfs or what?"
"Never mind what we are, cabby; get us out of here somehow, and drive us home to Kensington Square, and I'll give you a sovereign."
"Will you, though?" said the cabby. "Well, I'm gaun to do it, but the question is—how? I'll go and knock up the park keeper."
"No, no, don't do that!" I said hastily. "He'll want such a lot of explanations, and we're wet and uncomfortable and anxious to get home. Do please try and think of some way of getting us out without having to call him."
Our cabby was a man of resource, for having considered for a moment, he backed the horse close against the gate, stood on the top and lowered the horse's nosebag by means of a long rope which he kept by him in case of emergencies, and cried—
"Now then, get in there, one at a time, and I'll soon have you over here."