giggled.

"Hang it all! I suppose I ought to have said to-morrow," he sighed.
"Here, Thompson, you and Hilda, as the married couple of the party,
ought to deal with these beastly emergencies."

"Not I," I replied. "You've got us in the muddle, now get us out. Wire
and say it's for to-morrow."

"And then," said my practical wife, "we shall get to-day's hot lunch
cold to-morrow, and a rapacious Scotch-woman will charge us for it
twice over."

"I wish you would say 'Scots,' not 'Scotch,'" complained MacFadden.

"Sorry, Kiltie," rejoined Hilda; "and perhaps one of you two will deal
with the Scots woman."

"Leave her to me and none of you interfere," answered MacFadden.
"Willoughby is no good at a job that needs tact. He's not half as
lovable as I am either. Is he, Molly? We'll send the wire at once.
Come on."

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.