"Blessed if I know," said Bob. "But you ought to know."
"I don't," said the bishop. And he got out and stood on the dusty road. He reeled, and the dean would have said he was intoxicated. And so he was.
"Geordie's off again," said Bob. "Come, jump in."
"I won't," said the bishop. "Certainly I won't. That machine is a kind of devil. It undermines the strongest convictions. I am afraid of it. I shall have to resign my bishopric if I ride another mile."
"Oh, rot!" said Bob. "Aren't you coming? I can't wait."
"Take the devilish thing away," cried the bishop. "Anathema maranatha and all the rest of it!"
Without another word, Bob pulled the lever and sailed off up the road, leaving a trail of petrol vapour behind him.
"Mentally and physically, I don't know where I am," said the bishop. "I don't know who I am, either. From my clothes I conclude I am a bishop, but to come to that conclusion I have to assume that I have the right to wear them. I have had a remarkable experience. Yes, I am a bishop. This is the earth and very dusty. It is hot, and I am miles from anywhere."
He looked up the road and saw a far cloud of dust.
"Under that dust is Bob," said the bishop. "As I said, Penelope is a vortex. Everything is much more remarkable than I thought, much more remarkable. I shall write to the professor to discover what he means. It is dreadful that what may be called a mere physical experience should incline me to look on some of my fellow bishops and the higher criticism with a more lenient eye. I don't see how any dogma can survive a hundred miles an hour. But Bob has not treated me altogether well. He plumps me down somewhere between Spalding and Spilsby or Boston or some other dreadful locality under the ghostly influence of my brother of Lincoln, and disappears in dust and smell. He was distinctly disrespectful. He said, 'Sit down, bishop,' in a very authoritative manner. He told me I was excited. I own I was, but I resented being told so by a boy, because he was a boy, or was it because I am a bishop? An unaccustomed bishop in a motor-car is plainly nobody compared with an experienced boy in one. I wish Penelope was a sensible person, or that I had never known her, or that she hadn't been born! I wonder what I am to do. I must walk; I may be overtaken by a cart and get a ride in one. I anticipate much talk in Spilsborough about this. I wonder what Ridley will say. Ridley is a stoic; perhaps he will say nothing. I wish I was near Ridley; I am thirsty. This road is dusty. It also appears long and interminable. I am as dry as convocation. I much resent Bob's treatment of me. I wish Bradstock was here, and I was where Bradstock is. Bradstock is in my library, in my chair, with a book in his hand and a whiskey and soda by his side. He takes things with great calmness. I wish he was here to take this with calmness."