“If I had a piece of sugar he’d follow us upstairs.  You’ll find a horse will go anywhere after a piece of sugar.  It is a horse, isn’t it?  Not a donkey?  Because if it was a donkey he would want a thistle, and I don’t know where I can get a thistle at this time of night.  I say, did you prod me in the stomach then with anything?” asked Mr. Mousley severely.

“No, no,” said Mark.  “Come along, it was the parallel bars.”

“I’ve not been near any bars to-night, and if you are suggesting that I’ve been in bars you’re making an insinuation which I very much resent, an insinuation which I resent most bitterly, an insinuation which I should not allow anybody to make without first pointing out that it was an insinuation.”

“Do come down off that ladder,” Mark said.

“I beg your pardon, Lidderdale.  I was under the impression for the moment that I was going upstairs.  I have really been so confused by Confucius and by the extraordinary behaviour of the house to-night, recoiling from me as it did, that for the moment I was under the impression that I was going upstairs.”

At this moment Mr. Mousley fell from the ladder, luckily on one of the gymnasium mats.

“I do think it’s a most ridiculous habit,” he said, “not to place a doormat in what I might describe as a suitable cavity.  The number of times in my life that I’ve fallen over doormats simply because people will not take the trouble to make the necessary depression in the floor with which to contain such a useful domestic receptacle you would scarcely believe.  I must have fallen over thousands of doormats in my life,” he shouted at the top of his voice.

“You’ll wake everybody up in the house,” Mark exclaimed in an agony.  “For heaven’s sake keep quiet.”

“Oh, we are in the house, are we?” said Mr. Mousley.  “I’m very much relieved to hear you say that, Lidderdale.  For a brief moment, I don’t know why, I was almost as confused as Confucius as to where we were.”

At this moment, candle in hand, and in a white flannel nightgown looking larger than ever, Father Rowley appeared in the gallery above and leaning over demanded who was there.

“Is that Father Rowley?” Mr. Mousley inquired with intense courtesy.  “Or do my eyes deceive me?  You’ll excuse me from replying to your apparently simple question, Father Rowley, but I have met such a number of people to-night including the son of a man who used to know my father that I really don’t know who is there, although I’m inclined to think that I am here.  But I’ve had a series of such a remarkable series of adventures to-night that I should like your advice about them.  I’ve been spending a very intellectual evening, Father Rowley.”

“Go to bed,” said the mission priest severely.  “I’ll speak to you in the morning.”

“Father Rowley isn’t annoyed with me, is he?” Mr. Mousley asked.

“I think he’s rather annoyed at your being so late,” said Mark.