“Oh! well, I’ll risk the inn at Hurley for one night,” I said.
“What about your things?” he asked.
“Blast!” was my only comment.
“Rummest go I ever heard of,” Banks interjected thoughtfully. “You don’t mean as they’ve actually turned you out?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” I explained. “But I couldn’t possibly go back there.”
“What about writing a note for your things?” he suggested. “I’d take it up.”
“And ask them to lend me the motor?”
“I don’t expect they’d mind,” he said.
“Perhaps not. Anything to get rid of me,” I returned. “But I’m not going to ask them any favours. I don’t mind using the bally thing—they owe me that—but I’m not going to ask them for it.”
“Must have been a fair old bust up,” he commented, evidently curious still about my quarrel at the Hall.