Neither Sylvia nor Arthur could ever say what occurred to irritate a horse that with equanimity had tolerated the flapping all day, but suddenly it leaped forward at a canter, while the loose piece of tire slapped the road with increasing rapidity and noise. The reins slipped down; and Sylvia, who had often been allowed to drive with Blanche, managed to gather them up and keep the horse more or less in the middle of the road. After the cab had traveled about a mile the tire that all day had been seeking freedom achieved its purpose and, lancing itself before the vehicle in a swift parabola, looped itself round the ancient ragman who was shuffling along the gutter in pursuit of wealth. The horse chose that moment to stop abruptly and an unpleasant encounter with the ragman seemed inevitable. Already he was approaching the cab, waving in angry fashion his spiked stick and swearing in a bronchial voice; he stopped his abuse, however, on perceiving the absence of the driver, and muttering to himself: "A lucky night, so help me! A lovely long strip of india-rubber! Gor! what a find!" he turned round and walked away as fast as he could, stuffing the tire into his basket as he went. "I wonder whether I could drive the cab properly if I climbed up on the box," said Sylvia, thoughtfully. "Oh no! For goodness' sake, don't do anything of the kind!" Arthur begged. "Let's get down while the beast is quiet. Come along. We shall never be able to explain why we're in this cab. It's like a dream." Sylvia gave way so far as not to mount the box, but she declined to alight, and insisted they ought to stay where they were and rest as long as they could; there were still a number of dark hours before them. "But my dear girl, this beast of a horse may start off again," Arthur protested. "Well, what if it does?" Sylvia said. "We can't be any more lost than we are now. I don't know in the least what part of London we've got to." "I'm sure there's something the matter with this cab," Arthur woefully exclaimed. "There is," she agreed. "You've just set fire to it with that match." "I'm so nervous," said Arthur. "I don't know what I'm doing. Phew! what a stink of burnt hair. Do let's get out." He stamped on the smoldering mat. "Shut up," Sylvia commanded. "I'm going to try and have a sleep. Wake me up if the horse tries to walk into a shop or anything." But this was more than Arthur could stand, and he shook her in desperation. "You sha'n't go to sleep. You don't seem to mind what happens to us." "Not a bit," Sylvia agreed. Then suddenly she sang at the top of her voice, "for I'm off with the raggle-taggle gipsies--oh!" The horse at once trotted forward, and Arthur was in despair. "Oh, damn!" he moaned. "Now you've started that horrible brute off again. Whatever made me come away with you?" "You can go home whenever you like," said Sylvia, coldly. "What's the good of telling me that when we're tearing along in a cab without a driver?" Arthur bewailed.