Next day the steamer dropped us into the ferry-boat off Lochrie Bay, and our bicycles, more frightened than hurt, but much shaken, were hurled in after us. After five miles on a primitive road we arrived at the hotel very late.
MacFadden, assuring us that if we only kept quiet he would see us through in spite of any Scots innkeeper, led the way.
The landlady, a dour woman, appeared.
"Good morning, Madam," began Mac politely.
"Will you be Mr. Willoughby?" she replied.
"No," said Mac truthfully, assuming a puzzled expression.
"Weel, then," resumed the lady, addressing Sylvia, who happened to be close behind, "will you be Mrs. Willoughby?"
Molly sniggered; Sylvia reddened and answered hastily, "No, I won't!" at which Willoughby sighed audibly.
"What I wanted to ask you was whether perhaps you could be so kind as to give us a bit of bread and cheese or something," said Mac ingratiatingly. "Of course one doesn't expect a proper lunch in these places without ordering it beforehand."
"And those that order beforehand dinna come," she replied with some asperity. "A pairty of six ordered for yesterday then they telegraphs to say they mean to-day, and now they're no here and the time lang gone by. I thocht ye were the pairty at first."