The bishop was very kind and amiable to Bob. Some people say that bishops are always kind and good to people who will be dukes by and by. One never knows what a duke can do for one later, and, of course, a bishop wants to be an archbishop. That is only natural: even a cardinal wants to be Pope, although he almost always says he is sorry he became one when he finds himself at the end of his tether. The bishop was a human being, but a nice one, and he really liked Bob, who suggested youth and strength and the future, all of them agreeable things to those who are not young and see their future behind them. So he talked to Bob almost as if he was one of the Bench of Bishops. He was familiar and jovial, and told some good stories of other bishops and even one of an archbishop. And he suggested to Bob that he rather wanted to see what a motor-car was like.
"There is a prejudice against them here," said the bishop. "Perhaps a natural prejudice among those who own chickens and dogs and children. But Providence works in a mysterious way, and I should be the last to hasten to blame even the gentleman known as a road hog. I begin to perceive an unwonted sprightliness in the villagers as the elimination of the unfit, the rheumatic, the undecided, and the foolish proceeds apace. A young man, who told me that he had in the course of his career as an owner of cars killed nearly a thousand dogs, two thousand five hundred fowls, several aged persons, some idiots, and a policeman, said that he noticed nowadays an air of bright alertness in his immediate neighbourhood which was at once a pleasure and an encouragement. He asserted that the dogs who remained were of a higher type of intellect than the others; and he said that even the fowls now stood sideways in the road and used their natural advantage of looking both ways at once. There was, too, a great improvement in village children and even in policemen. Oh, yes, I think much may be said for the motor-car."
"I should very much like to take you out in one, my lord," said Bob.
The bishop smiled graciously.
"You shall, my boy, as soon as this matter of Penelope is settled. I shall greatly enjoy passing rapidly through the country. I think of buying one for purposes of my pastoral visitations. Perhaps I may wake up some of my more somnolent clergy. I may even raise their general intellectual average, which is low, really low."
Bob's chauffeur put up at the Angel, but Bob himself had a bed in the palace, and dined in state with the bishop and Bradstock. They discussed Penelope all dinner-time, even before Ridley, for, as the bishop explained, Ridley took no interest in anything whatever but wine.
"I believe," said the bishop, with a chuckle, "that I might venture in his presence to advocate the disestablishment of the Church, or to give vent to heretical or even atheistical sentiments without his being aware that I was doing anything surprising, improper, or unusual. By all means, let us talk before Ridley. How do you think Bob should proceed, Bradstock?"
"He must stay in his car near, but not too near, the post-office," said Bradstock. "If Bob is properly goggled, this George Smith, whom we suppose to bring Pen's letters and telegrams, will not notice him. Shall you know him, Bob?"
"Rather," said Bob. "He walks very queerly. I could tell him a mile off."
"Very well, then," Bradstock continued, "when he goes, you will follow him at a distance. He must not be lost sight of."
"I much underrate our young friend's enterprise if he loses him," said the bishop. "There are occasions when exceeding the legal limit becomes a duty, Bob."
"Rather," said Bob. "Oh, I'll do it."
They calculated that the Times would reach Pen about noon, as they believed she must be within twenty miles of Spilsborough. Bob accordingly arranged to take up his watch at the post-office before one o'clock.
"And perhaps to-morrow night the mystery will be solved," said the bishop. "It is really remarkable. I am not at all able to follow Penelope's mind."
Bob explained it to him.
"They ragged her," he said,—by "they" meaning Titania and others,—"and she loves peace and hates showing off, and she's as obstinate as a pig. And grandmother said she was to be married in Westminster Abbey by a bishop, and that put her back up. Oh, Pen's easy to understand, I think."
"You have no idea whom she has really married?" asked the bishop.
"Not much," said Bob. "I give it up. I've thought it was all of 'em, and every one has done or said something that could be taken both ways. I was sure it was Goby, and then I was certain it was Bramber, and then I fairly knew it was Rivaulx, and I could have sworn it was Plant. And I'm very much worried by what occurred at Oxford. This new Bunting was very surprising."
The bishop had not heard of the new Bunting, and listened to Bob's story with great interest.
"The world is a very surprising place," said the bishop, with emphasis; "a very surprising place indeed. We do not need to go to Africa for new things. We are surrounded by the unexpected, by the marvellous. Bob's delightful story makes me feel that no one can reckon with certainty upon anything. I am half-inclined to think that this new Bunting must be a relation of the other Bunting, and that Penelope has met him, been struck with him, and has married him and lives in temporary retirement, while her husband struggles with Thucydides under a sofa. But after to-morrow we shall know more."
"I hope so," said Bradstock.
"I feel sure of it," said the bishop.
And Bob went to bed.
"Do you know, Bradstock," said the bishop, as he stroked his leg, which was a very reasonable leg for a bishop, "I wonder you didn't think I had married Penelope."
"Good heavens!" said Bradstock, "have you?"
"Certainly not," replied the bishop, "but it is odd she should be near Spilsborough, isn't it?"
"She must be somewhere," said Bradstock, rather irritably. "Hang it! the girl must be somewhere."
"When you think of it, she must," said the bishop. "Yes, yes, you are right. Still, Spilsborough—yes, it's odd, but not remarkable. As you say, she must be somewhere. I hope it's not the Jew, Bradstock."
So did Bradstock.
"It looks very much as if she was ashamed of him. But I'm incapable of judging, not having been married," said the bishop.
"I've been married twice," said Bradstock, "and Pen is a woman, which means she resembles no other woman in any respect whatever as regards her ways, manners, customs, and thoughts."
"You say that coolly?" asked the bishop.
"Icily," replied Bradstock.
The bishop shook his head.
"You surprise me," said the bishop, "and I think I will go to bed."
Bradstock went to bed, too.
"I shouldn't be surprised if she had married the bishop and was under this roof now," said Bradstock. "Nothing would surprise me unless I discover she's married to Rivaulx or Bramber. I don't think I should mind either of 'em."
And next day at half-past twelve Bob and his chauffeur took up a position near the post-office. As Geordie Smith knew Bradstock, he kept quietly at the palace. But the interested bishop who had not married Penelope kept bustling about the neighbourhood in quite an excitement.
"I wish I was coming with you, Bob."
"Oh, do!" said Bob.
"I almost think it would be advisable," said the bishop. "What I said would have weight with Penelope, I believe."
"I rather wish you'd come," cried Bob. "It would be fun, and you said you'd like to go in a motor-car."
"So I did," said the bishop, "but I've never been in one. No one has seen me in one. I fear a crowd would assemble."
"At any rate, my lord, you might get in and sit down a minute."
The bishop looked around.
"I really think I will," he said. And he entered the car.
"This is really comfortable, Bob, very comfortable, quite like an armchair. Is your driver a good one?"
"A ripper," said Bob. "The best they have where I got the car. It's not mine, but when I get all the money that Gordon owes me, I'll buy one."
The chauffeur got down and did something inexplicable to the machinery with a spanner. And the spanner broke.
"I'll just run across and get a new one, sir," said the chauffeur.
"It's getting late," said Bob. "Don't be long, and before you go start her up."
The driver set her going, and the bishop caught hold of Bob.
"You're not off? This is very surprising. It makes a very curious noise."
"There won't be any to speak of when we get her moving," said Bob. "You see the engine is going, and when we like we can start at once."
He was happy, bright, and eager.
"There's a motor-car coming," whispered the bishop.
Bob jumped.
"I say, it's yellow like Pen's big new one," he said. And the car stopped in front of the post-office ten yards away. Bob grabbed the bishop's arm.
"That's Geordie Smith," he said. "That's Geordie getting out. I could tell his legs a mile off. Where's my man?"
But the man didn't come, and Geordie was back in his car. He went off sweetly.
"The north road," said Bob. "I'm sure he'll take it. He's going quick. We can't wait for my man."
He grabbed the steering-wheel, shifted the lever, and the car moved off on the first speed.
"I'll—I'll go a little way with you," said the bishop.
"You'll have to unless you jump," replied Bob. "I'll keep in sight if I die for it."
This encouraged the bishop very much, of course, and it is possible that he might have jumped if he had not caught sight of the dean and a minor canon, who were staring hard at him with their mouths as wide open as the grotesque muzzle of a Gothic gargoyle.
"I'll not jump," said the bishop, and he waved his hand to Mr. Dean. "No, I'll not jump before the dean if I die for it."
Before he knew it, they were out on the road, and the dust of the yellow car in front was like the pillar of smoke to the Hebrews in the desert. Bob let her out to the second speed, and the bishop gasped.
"We go very quick," he said.
"Oh, not at all," replied Bob. "I don't want to go fast. If Geordie thinks he's being followed, he'll go sixty miles an hour, and I don't think I can do more than forty-five in this."
"Can't you?" asked the bishop. "I'm almost glad you can't."
"Is this the great north road?" asked Bob.
"No," said the bishop, "it's the road to Crowland and Spalding. I've often driven on it, but never so fast as this."
Geordie's car drew ahead, and Bob put his car on the third speed.
"Bob!" cried the bishop, as he clutched the sides of his seat. "Bob!"
"Yes?"
"Isn't this an illegal speed?"
"Rather," said Bob.
"I cannot aid and abet you in going at it, then," said the bishop, as firmly as he could. "I must request you to be legal."
Bob kept his eyes ahead.
"Please don't talk," he roared, "or I shall have an accident. You must remember I'm not at all experienced."
What could the poor bishop do? He groaned and sat very tight indeed, and, seeing the landscape eaten up by this monster at the rate of thirty miles an hour, came to the conclusion that there was nothing stable in the universe, not even theology. And about a mile ahead of them rose a pillar of dust.
"This is a remarkable situation," thought the bishop; "a situation which requires some firmness of mind. I am a bishop, and I am no better than half my clergy who break the law regularly. This must be nearly a hundred miles an hour! I wish, I almost wish Penelope had died soon after I christened her. This Bob is an infernal young ruffian; his manner is not respectful. I should like to cane him. But how can I stop him? I do not understand these strange brass things. I could as soon play the big organ in the cathedral that I wish I was in. If I pull Bob he will have an accident. If I speak to him, I may divert his attention—oh!"
They executed a fowl which had not learnt to stand sideways, and slammed through a village, scattering several ancient inhabitants who were enjoying a gossip in the middle of the road. As a matter of fact, they were damning Geordie Smith in heaps when the pursuing Bob fell upon them. They passed a church, and the bishop saw a clergyman staring over the wall. The village fell into the category of things which had been and slid away behind them.
"We are stopping still and the world slides," said the bishop, "but that was Griggs, I know, and he knew me. He has eyes like a hawk's. I am much surprised at myself. I have seventeen engagements this afternoon. Ridley will be alarmed. The dean—oh!"
They slammed a barking dog into the middle of the week after next.
"That was a near shave," roared Bob, exulting. "I've seen a smaller dog than that capsize a bigger car than this!"
"May I speak now?" implored the bishop.
"Righto," said Bob. "Here's a good straight bit. What is it?"
He was the superior: he was a big bird and the bishop was a beetle. He was the head master; his lordship of the see of Spilsborough was a new boy. The bishop felt small, terrified, amazed, humiliated.
"Are we going a hundred miles an hour?" asked the bishop.
"Rot!" said Bob, "we're only doing about thirty."
They scorched through quiet Crowland.
"Please put me down," implored the humble bishop.
"I can't stop," said Bob. "I'm afraid he's getting ahead. Sit tight, bishop, I'm going faster now."
"You mustn't, you can't," said the bishop.
Bob stooped for an answer and turned on the fourth speed. The bishop felt the machine sailing underneath him. He fell back and lost all ordinary consciousness.
"It is true," said his mind deep inside him; "it is true that all things are illusion! I have sometimes suspected it. We are a mode of motion; we are affections of the ether. I believe Professor Osborne Reynolds is right. I am a kind of vortex spinning in piled grains of ether. Bob is a vortex. We are in a vortex. We are straws in ether; we are shadows. I have a real non-existent pain in my real imaginary non-existent stomach. I am not alive and I am not dead. I am brave; I am a coward; I am a bishop. This is very wonderful. I shall preach about it when I return to earth. Is that a hedge? Did I see a cow?—a strange, elongated, horned, lowing, permanent, impermanent possibility of sensation and milk in a field made of matter, which is energy, which is an illusion. I become calm; motion is relative. I almost enjoy it. I become a Hegelian. I see that being equals non-being; that pain becomes pleasure if you only have enough of it. I no longer pity those who suffer sufficiently. There is apparently too little pain in the universe. Torquemada did his best to remedy it. Oh, was that a dog? I quite enjoy myself. I wonder if he can go faster. If he can, I wish he would. We are going slow, too slow!"
And, as Geordie's dust showed up much nearer, Bob put his car again at the third speed, and the bishop gasped.
"How do you like it?" asked Bob, as they spun through Spalding.
The bishop's face was a fine glowing crimson; his bloodshot eyes glittered like opals; he was intoxicated with movement and with new lights on philosophy.
"I—I should like to go a thousand miles an hour at night," said the bishop. "I think it is wonderful, Bob. Are you Bob, and I a bishop? Where is Spilsborough? Is there a Spilsborough?"
"Steady on!" said Bob. "I say, you're excited!"
"I am," replied the bishop. "I am excited; I feel peculiar. I think I can originate a new philosophy. Why are we doing this?"
"We are trying to find out where Penelope is," said Bob.
"Penelope, Penelope," said the bishop. "Penelope is a vortex. Yes, she is a vortex. Men and women are vortices. I shall study mathematics and apply it to theology."
"Hello!" said Bob, and he stopped almost dead. For Geordie's dust had suddenly died down.
"I'll bet he has a puncture," said Bob. And the bishop sighed and stared about him, as if he were just awakened.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Blessed if I know," said Bob. "But you ought to know."
"I don't," said the bishop. And he got out and stood on the dusty road. He reeled, and the dean would have said he was intoxicated. And so he was.
"Geordie's off again," said Bob. "Come, jump in."
"I won't," said the bishop. "Certainly I won't. That machine is a kind of devil. It undermines the strongest convictions. I am afraid of it. I shall have to resign my bishopric if I ride another mile."
"Oh, rot!" said Bob. "Aren't you coming? I can't wait."
"Take the devilish thing away," cried the bishop. "Anathema maranatha and all the rest of it!"
Without another word, Bob pulled the lever and sailed off up the road, leaving a trail of petrol vapour behind him.
"Mentally and physically, I don't know where I am," said the bishop. "I don't know who I am, either. From my clothes I conclude I am a bishop, but to come to that conclusion I have to assume that I have the right to wear them. I have had a remarkable experience. Yes, I am a bishop. This is the earth and very dusty. It is hot, and I am miles from anywhere."
He looked up the road and saw a far cloud of dust.
"Under that dust is Bob," said the bishop. "As I said, Penelope is a vortex. Everything is much more remarkable than I thought, much more remarkable. I shall write to the professor to discover what he means. It is dreadful that what may be called a mere physical experience should incline me to look on some of my fellow bishops and the higher criticism with a more lenient eye. I don't see how any dogma can survive a hundred miles an hour. But Bob has not treated me altogether well. He plumps me down somewhere between Spalding and Spilsby or Boston or some other dreadful locality under the ghostly influence of my brother of Lincoln, and disappears in dust and smell. He was distinctly disrespectful. He said, 'Sit down, bishop,' in a very authoritative manner. He told me I was excited. I own I was, but I resented being told so by a boy, because he was a boy, or was it because I am a bishop? An unaccustomed bishop in a motor-car is plainly nobody compared with an experienced boy in one. I wish Penelope was a sensible person, or that I had never known her, or that she hadn't been born! I wonder what I am to do. I must walk; I may be overtaken by a cart and get a ride in one. I anticipate much talk in Spilsborough about this. I wonder what Ridley will say. Ridley is a stoic; perhaps he will say nothing. I wish I was near Ridley; I am thirsty. This road is dusty. It also appears long and interminable. I am as dry as convocation. I much resent Bob's treatment of me. I wish Bradstock was here, and I was where Bradstock is. Bradstock is in my library, in my chair, with a book in his hand and a whiskey and soda by his side. He takes things with great calmness. I wish he was here to take this with calmness."
And he walked south for three hours and got back to Spalding, and there took a train for Spilsborough.