“How did you get here,” said Sir James. “I never thought—. In this weather—. How did you get here?”
“On my bike, of course,” said Molly. “Did a regular sprint. Wind behind me. Going like blazes. I’d have done it in forty minutes, only Michael ran into a sheep and I had to wait for him.”
Sir James was aware that the engine driver, grinning broadly, was on the step of the carriage behind Molly.
“I lent Michael Dad’s old bike,” said Molly, “and barring the accident with the sheep, he came along very well.”
“What I’m thinking,” said the driver, “is that you’ll never be able to fetch back against the wind that does be in it. I wouldn’t say but you might do it, miss; but the gentleman wouldn’t be fit. He’s not accustomed to the like.”
“We’re not going to ride back,” said Molly. “You’re going to take us back on the engine, with the two bikes in the tender, on top of the coal.”
“I can’t do it, miss,” said the driver. “I declare to God I’d be afraid of my life to do it. Didn’t I tell you I was out on strike?”
“We oughtn’t to ask him,” said Sir James. “Surely, Molly, you must understand that. It would be an act of gross disloyalty on his part, disloyalty to his union, to the cause of labour. And any effort we make to persuade him—— My dear Molly, the right of collective bargaining which lies at the root of all strikes——”
Molly ignored Sir James and turned to the engine driver.
“Just you wait here five minutes,” she said, “till I get someone who knows how to talk to you.”