"We're not tearing along," Sylvia contradicted. "And I'm driving. I expect the horse will go back to its stable if we don't interfere with him too much." "Who wants to interfere with the brute? Oh, listen to that wheel. I'm sure it's coming off." "Here's a cab shelter," Sylvia said, encouragingly. "I'm going to try and pull up." Luckily the horse was ready enough to stop, and both of them got out. Sylvia walked without hesitation into the shelter, followed by Arthur with the bags. There were three or four cabmen inside, eating voluptuously in an atmosphere of tobacco smoke, steam, and burnt grease. She explained to them about the cab's running away, was much gratified by the attention her story secured, and learned that it was three o'clock and that she was in Somers Town. "Where are you going, missie?" one of the cabmen asked. "We were going to Waterloo, but we don't mind staying here," Sylvia said. "My brother is rather tired and my cat would like some milk." "What did the driver look like, missie?" one of the men asked. Sylvia described him vaguely as rather fat, a description which would have equally suited any of the present company, with the exception of the attendant tout, who was exceptionally lean. "I wonder if it 'ud be Bill?" said one of the cabmen. "I shouldn't be surprised." "Wasn't Bill grumbling about his tire this morning?" "I don't know if it was his tire; he was grumbling about something." "I reckon it's Bill. Did you notice if the gentleman as drove you had a swelling behind his ear?" asked the man who had first propounded the theory of the missing driver's being Bill. "I didn't notice," said Sylvia. "About the size of a largish potato?" the theorist pressed, encouragingly. "I'm afraid I didn't notice," said Sylvia. "It must be Bill," the theorist decided. "Any one wouldn't notice that swelling in the dark, 'specially if Bill had his collar turned up." "He did have his collar turned up," Arthur put in. "There you are," said the theorist. "What did I tell you? Of course it's Bill. No one wouldn't see his swelling with his coat turned up. Poor old Bill, he won't half swear when he has to walk home to-night. Here, Joe," he went on, addressing the attending tout. "Give Bill's horse a bit of a feed." Sylvia and Arthur were given large slices of bread and butter and large cups of coffee; Maria had a saucer of milk. Life was looking much more cheerful. Presently a burly cabman appeared in the entrance of the shelter and was greeted with shouts of merriment. "What ho, Bill, old cock! Lost your ruddy cab, old sporty? Lor! we haven't half laughed to think of you having to use your bacon and eggs to get here. I reckon you didn't half swear." "Who are you getting at, you blinking set of mugs? Who's lost his ruddy cab?" demanded Bill. "That's not the driver," Sylvia said.