"I don’t think I quite understand the bishop," said Bob, as he left the dignitary of the Church stranded long miles from anywhere. "He looked very queer. But I suppose they’re made bishops because they are queer, unless it’s on account of their legs. I can understand the gaiters, but the apron licks me. I’ll ask him about it some day. But I wonder where we are, and how much longer Geordie will go on. It’s luck I’ve had no puncture and no breakdown. I thought it was all up when I sent that dog over the hedge. He did fly. I wonder whether any bobbies have spotted my number. I don’t care. Gordon owes me a lot of money by now. What’s thirty-two times two thousand odd? Oh, I can’t remember. I’m getting rather tired." But he stuck to Geordie like a burr to a sheep, and between the two of them they stirred up more ancient peace and the haunts of it than any other two cars in the United Kingdom. They fairly bounded through sleepy old Boston, and a policeman, waked up from sleep by Geordie, was wide-awake enough by the time Bob came through to call on him to stop. "I wouldn’t stop for an army of policemen," said Bob, recklessly. "I don’t care. I’ll catch Geordie if I die for it. Gordon will pay my fines. I wonder how the bishop is. This is the Spilsby road, is it? I wonder whether Pen’s at Spilsby? Will she be very cross with me? Oh, that was a hen! I _do_ think hens shouldn’t be allowed in a road." A dog stood in the middle of the way and barked. In the middle of his second bark, the front wheel caught him. He ended his bark in the ditch, and was very dreamy about the whole affair for some time afterward. "That was a dog," said Bob. "I _do_ think dogs shouldn’t be allowed in a road." He missed a horse by a hairbreadth a mile farther on, and felt very cross. He said horses shouldn’t be allowed in a road. He said the same of carts and of a carriage, of children and agricultural labourers. They were so slow. For now Geordie was going pretty fast, and Bob had to go on the fourth speed, which is highly illegal and wicked and very dangerous. He had never enjoyed himself so much before, and he was undoubtedly the happiest boy in the three kingdoms. "Geordie doesn’t know I’m after him," he said. "I’ll bet he’s riding along easy. That car of Pen’s can go like lightning if he lets her out. He will be mad when I come up." And suddenly he perceived down a long, white road that Geordie was going more slowly. "This must be Spilsby," said Bob. He saw Geordie’s dust go off at a right angle toward the right. "I’ve done it," said the exultant boy. "We must be near Pen’s now." For to turn to the right in the neighbourhood of Spilsby means to go toward the North Sea. Bob ran into Spilsby quite meekly on the second speed, and turned after Geordie. A mile farther on, Bob saw a house in some trees, and all of a sudden there was no more dust from Geordie’s car. Bob pulled up in the middle of the road.