With the Norfolk jacket still on his knees, he plunged into
another silent meditation. "That wouldn't matter," he said. "It's
the bike's the bother.

"No good going back to Bognor.

"Might send it back by carrier, of course. Thanking him for the
loan. Having no further use--" Mr. Hoopdriver chuckled and lapsed
into the silent concoction of a delightfully impudent letter.
"Mr. J. Hoopdriver presents his compliments." But the grave note
reasserted itself.

"Might trundle back there in an hour, of course, and exchange
them. MY old crock's so blessed shabby. He's sure to be spiteful
too. Have me run in, perhaps. Then she'd be in just the same old
fix, only worse. You see, I'm her Knight-errant. It complicates
things so."

His eye, wandering loosely, rested on the sponge bath. "What the
juice do they want with cream pans in a bedroom?" said Mr.
Hoopdriver, en passant.

"Best thing we can do is to set out of here as soon as possible,
anyhow. I suppose she'll go home to her friends. That bicycle is
a juicy nuisance, anyhow. Juicy nuisance!"

He jumped to his feet with a sudden awakening of energy, to
proceed with his toilet. Then with a certain horror he remembered
that the simple necessaries of that process were at
Bognor!"Lord!" he remarked, and whistled silently for a space.