Moreover, he soon discovered that the haughty
Baron was taking all sorts of liberties with him; was slogging him round
the lists; in short, was playing polo with him.
But apart from the physical and mental discomfort of his situation he was
not actually hurt, and at length he felt himself come to rest. The Baron,
worn out by his unproductive labours, was thinking.
So was Bowles. He was just saying to himself, "Thank heaven I thought of
choosing _smooth_ maces. A spike would have punctured the cover in no
time," when he felt something which made his hair stand on end.
His enemy was fumbling at the lacing of his tunic!
Then poor little Sir Bowles gave himself up for lost and almost swooned
away. He felt the Baron undo the lace and pull out the tube. There was a
perplexed pause....
And just as the Baron was pulling out the valve pin little Mr. Bowles woke
with a shriek.
* * * * *
I suppose it was the fact that he had come straight from a symposium on
transmigration that made little Bowles imagine he had been recurring to a
previous existence. I myself should have thought that the rules of the game
required the reincarnation of Sir Bors to be a rather more bloodthirsty and
pugnacious person than our hero; and the sequel seems to prove that little
Bowles thought the same. I think he felt he was not quite the man for this
sort of rough work, even in the retrospect of dreams. Anyway, shortly after
his painful experience he withdrew his subscription from the Puddlesby
Psychical Society and ceased for ever to assist at their seances.
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