He had become entangled with a lamp-post. There is no other way of describing his predicament. He came to rest with his forehead pressed against the post, and all his efforts to get round it ended in dismal failure. His legs kicked spasmodically and his arms revolved irregularly. There were intermittent explosions, like the back-firing of a petrol engine. The only person who witnessed these peculiar antics was P.C. Hawkins, who had been indulging in a quiet smoke beneath the shelter of a neighbouring archway.Frank looked back as long as the station was in sight. Somebody continued to wave a delicate handkerchief until the train had disappeared; somebody's eyes were full of tears, and so were the eyes of somebody else. Somebody's good wishes followed the travellers, and the travellersFrank especiallywafted back good wishes for that somebody."Madam,"--my cap went higher, my head lower--"I never bet.""What time in the evening must we go," said Fred, "so as to be there in season for the beginning of the performance?"He could not help drawing a long breath of cigarette smoke mixed with relief. He thought that the corner had been quite safely steered round. There they were back again in parish work, and what could be nicer? He disregarded Alices gasp of appreciation at his modesty, and proceeded with an increased sense of comfort.Punish him by not giving him his slippers. Give them me instead, and Ill wear them when he comes to dinner.