Common sense continued to whisper to me: "Stop him, before he does any
more mischief. You have a right to protect your own property from the
ravages of a lunatic. Take him by the scruff of the neck, and kick him
out of the gate!"

But I am weak when it comes to hurting other people's feelings, and I let
him muddle on.

He gave up looking for the rest of the screws. He said screws had a
knack of turning up when you least expected them; and that now he would
see to the chain. He tightened it till it would not move; next he
loosened it until it was twice as loose as it was before. Then he said
we had better think about getting the front wheel back into its place
again.

I held the fork open, and he worried with the wheel. At the end of ten
minutes I suggested he should hold the forks, and that I should handle
the wheel; and we changed places. At the end of his first minute he
dropped the machine, and took a short walk round the croquet lawn, with
his hands pressed together between his thighs. He explained as he walked
that the thing to be careful about was to avoid getting your fingers
pinched between the forks and the spokes of the wheel. I replied I was
convinced, from my own experience, that there was much truth in what he
said. He wrapped himself up in a couple of dusters, and we commenced
again. At length we did get the thing into position; and the moment it
was in position he burst out laughing.

I said: "What's the joke?"

He said: "Well, I am an ass!"