It required an effort before he could walk into the
Angel bar. "A lemonade and bitter, please," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
He cleared his throat. "Are Mr. and Mrs. Bowlong stopping here?"
"What, a gentleman and a young lady--on bicycles?"
"Fairly young--a married couple."
"No," said the barmaid, a talkative person of ample dimensions.
"There's no married couples stopping here. But there's a Mr. and
Miss BEAUMONT." She spelt it for precision. "Sure you've got the
name right, young man?"
"Quite," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Beaumont there is, but no one of the name of-- What was the name
you gave?"
"Bowlong," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"No, there ain't no Bowlong," said the barmaid, taking up a
glasscloth and a drying tumbler and beginning to polish the
latter. "First off, I thought you might be asking for Beaumont--
the names being similar. Were you expecting them on bicycles?"
"Yes--they said they MIGHT be in Midhurst tonight."
"P'raps they'll come presently. Beaumont's here, but no Bowlong.
Sure that Beaumont ain't the name?"
"Certain," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"It's curious the names being so alike. I thought p'raps--"
And so they conversed at some length, Mr. Hoopdriver delighted to
find his horrible suspicion disposed of. The barmaid having
listened awhile at the staircase volunteered some particulars of
the young couple upstairs. Her modesty was much impressed by the
young lady's costume, so she intimated, and Mr. Hoopdriver
whispered the badinage natural to the occasion, at which she was
coquettishly shocked.
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