"Which way is it?"
"Well, you couldn't miss it, that goes straight on pretty nigh all the way. You've only got to follow the telegraph-postes till you comes to the "Leather Bottle," and then you turns to the right."
"I know my way from there."
"But you could never walk all that way to-night. You'd better by half stay at the hotel, and go on by rail in the morning."
"I'll wire to them at home to drive along the road and meet me, and I'll walk on till they do."
"Well, it's fine, and I dessay they'll meet you more'n half way, but 'tis a lonely road this time o' night."
"I'm not afraid," said I, and walked off briskly.
I bought a couple of buns in a baker's shop, and went on to the telegraph office—only to be told it was just after eight o'clock, and they could send no message that night.
I turned out my pockets, but all the coins I had were a sixpenny and a threepenny piece—not enough to pay for a night's lodging, I was sure. The cabman's extortion, and a half-crown I had given to the porter at Paddington in my haste, had reduced me to this.
What should I do? I was not long deciding to walk on. Perhaps they would guess what had happened at home and send to meet me. The spice of adventure appealed to me. If I had gone back to the porter he would probably have taken me to the hotel, and they would have trusted me. But I did not think of that—I imagine I did not want to think of it. I had been used to country roads all my life, and it was a perfect evening in late July.