There was a crack of the whip ahead, the horses, full of their coming supper, gave a bound forward, and that moment on the lonely road, five miles from home, sprawled Heathcote, with Dick in his lap, and two knotted pocket-handkerchiefs in the dust at their feet.

They had no breath left to shout, no energy to overtake, so they sat there panting, watching the coach vanish into the night and humbly wondering--what next?
"Here's a soak!" said Heathcote at last, recovering speech and slowly untying his handkerchief from the cable in order to mop his face.
"Yes," said Dick, getting off his friend's lap and looking dismally down the road; "our ride home didn't come off after all." "We came off, though!" said Heathcote.

But he corrected himself as he saw Dick wearily round upon him.

"I mean--I say, what must we do ?" "Stump it," said Dick.

"It's about five miles." Heathcote whistled.
"Pity we didn't cheek it into our own coach," said he.