There was an awful moment, when earth, sky, arms, legs, wheels, and bushes seemed all mixed together, and then Jack Vance found himself resting on his hands and knees in a puddle of dirty water. Diggory and Mugford had been driven with considerable violence into the thickest part of a thorn hedge, and proceeded to extricate themselves therefrom with many groans and lamentations.
"Well," said the mate, as they proceeded to drag the machine out of the ditch, "I should think, Jack, you've celebrated your birthday about enough; now you'd better give over, or we shall all be sent home in a sack."
"Me!" cried the captain, with great indignation. "It was your fault, you dummy! you put the helm over wrong again, you—"
"Hullo, you kids!" interrupted a voice behind them, and turning round the three friends saw the burly form of John Acton pushing a bicycle up the hill. "Hullo!" he continued; "it's young Trevanock. What's up? Have you had a spill?"
"Yes; the chain broke, and we ran into the ditch."
"Umph! bad business. Now you'll have to foot it, I suppose."
"Yes," answered Jack ruefully; "and we're bound to be back late pushing this old thing all the way. I wish old Jobling would try a ride on it himself."
"Oh! is that the 'coffee-mill'?" exclaimed the prefect, laughing. "Well, look here! If you're late, I'll see whoever's on duty, and tell him about the breakdown, and see if I can get you off."
"Oh, thanks awfully!" chorused the small boys.
"I've half a mind to say I wouldn't," continued Acton, looking round as he put his foot on the step of his machine, and nodding his head at Diggory. "I owe you a grudge for not telling me what I wanted to know about my young brother's love-letter."