Then suddenly the true truth of what he had forgotten to do came home to Robert, and he said "Oh, crikey!" and stood still with his mouth open, and let a porter with a Gladstone bag in each hand and a bundle of umbrellas under one arm blunder heavily into him, and never so much as said "Where are you shoving to now?" or "Look out where you're going, can't you?" The heavier bag smote him at the knee, and he staggered, but he said nothing. When the others understood what was the matter I think they told Robert what they thought of him.
"We must take the train to Croydon," said Anthea, "and find Aunt Emma."
"Yes," said Cyril, "and precious pleased those Jevonses would be to see us and our traps."
Aunt Emma, indeed, was staying with some Jevonses--very prim ladies. They were middle-aged and wore very smart blouses, and they were fond of _matinées_ and shopping, and they did not care about children.
"I know mother would be pleased to see us if we went back," said Jane.
"Yes, she would; but she'd think it was not right to show she was pleased, because it's Bob's fault we're not met. Don't I know the sort of thing?" said Cyril. "Besides, we've no tin, except my tip grandfather gave me, and I'm not going to blue that because Robert's gone and made an ass of himself. No; we've enough among us for a growler, but not enough for tickets to the New Forest. We must just go home. They won't be so savage when they find we've really got home all right. You know auntie was only going to take us home in a cab."
"I believe we ought to go to Croydon," Anthea insisted.
"Aunt Emma would be out, to a dead cert," said Robert. "Those Jevonses go to the theatre every afternoon, I believe. Besides, there's the Phoenix at home, _and_ the carpet. I votes we call a four-wheeled cabman."
A four-wheeled cabman was called--his cab was one of the old-fashioned kind, with straw in the bottom--and he was asked by Anthea to drive them very carefully to their address. This he did, and the price he asked for doing so was exactly the value of the gold coin grandpapa had given Cyril for Christmas. This cast a gloom--but Cyril would never have stooped to argue about a cab-fare, for fear the cabman should think he was not accustomed to take cabs whenever he wanted them. For a reason that was something like this he told the cabman to put the luggage on the steps, and waited till the wheels of the growler had grittily retired before he rang the bell. "You see," he said, with his hand on the handle, "we don't want cook and Eliza asking us before _him_ how it is we've come home alone--as if we were babies."