"It's your damned cat making the noise," Arthur said. "Come here, you brute." Maria was at last secured and replaced in his basket, and Arthur asked Sylvia if she was sure it was only a jug. "It's simply beastly in this area," he added. "Anything's better than sitting here." After making sure that nobody was in sight, they went on their way, though by now their legs were so weary that from time to time the bags scraped along the pavement. "The worst of it is," Sylvia sighed, "we've come so far now that it would be just as tiring to go back to Hampstead as to go on." "Oh, _you're_ thinking now of going back!" Arthur jeered. "It's a pity you didn't think of that when we were on Haverstock Hill." "I'm not thinking at all of going back," Sylvia snapped. "I'm not tired." "Oh no," said Arthur, sarcastically. "And I'm not at all wet, really." They got more and more irritable with each other. The bow in Sylvia's hair dropped off, and with all the fretful obstinacy of fatigue she would go wandering back on their tracks to see if she could find it; but the bow was lost. At last they saw a hansom coming toward them at a walking pace, and Sylvia announced that they would ride. "But where shall we drive to?" Arthur asked. "We can't just get in and drive anywhere." "We'll tell him to go to Waterloo," said Sylvia. "Stations are always open; we can wait there till the morning and then look for a house." She hailed the cab; with sighs of relief they sank back upon the seat, exhausted. Presently an odd noise like a fishmonger's smacking a cod could be heard beside the cab, and, leaning out over the apron to see what was the cause of it, Arthur was spattered with mud by a piece of the tire which was flogging the road with each revolution of the wheel. The driver pulled up and descended from the box to restrain it. "I've been tying it up all day, but it will do it," he complained. "There's nothing to worry over, but it fidgets one, don't it, flapping like that? I've tied it up with string and I've tied it up with wire, and last time I used my handkerchief. Now I suppose it's got to be my bootlace. Well, here goes," he said, and with many grunts he stooped over to undo his lace.