Free The New Collected Short Stories by E.M. Forster

hunt for your omnibus, you silly little boy.’
    His face grew serious, for the boy was not disconcerted, but leapt about the room singing, ‘Joy! joy! I told them you would believe me. We will drive together over the rainbow. I told them that you would come.’ After all, could there be anything in the story? Wagner? Keats? Shelley? Sir Thomas Browne? Certainly the case was interesting.
    And on the morrow evening, though it was pouring with rain, Mr Bons did not omit to call at Agathox Lodge.
    The boy was ready, bubbling with excitement, and skipping about in a way that rather vexed the President of the Literary Society. They took a turn down Buckingham Park Road, and then  –  having seen that no one was watching them  –  slipped up the alley. Naturally enough (for the sun was setting) they ran straight against the omnibus.
    ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Mr Bons. ‘Good gracious heavens!’
    It was not the omnibus in which the boy had driven first, nor yet that in which he had returned. There were three horses – black, gray, and white, the gray being the finest. The driver, who turned round at the mention of goodness and of heaven, was a sallow man with terrifying jaws and sunken eyes. Mr Bons, on seeing him, gave a cry as if of recognition, and began to tremble violently.
    The boy jumped in.
    ‘Is it possible?’ cried Mr Bons. ‘Is the impossible possible?’
    ‘Sir; come in, sir. It is such a fine omnibus. Oh, here is his name – Dan some one.’
    Mr Bons sprang in too. A blast of wind immediately slammed the omnibus door, and the shock jerked down all the omnibus blinds, which were very weak on their springs.
    ‘Dan . . . Show me. Good gracious heavens! we’re moving.’
    ‘Hooray!’ said the boy.
    Mr Bons became flustered. He had not intended to be kidnapped. He could not find the door-handle, nor push up the blinds. The omnibus was quite dark, and by the time he had struck a match, night had come on outside also. They were moving rapidly.
    ‘A strange, a memorable adventure,’ he said, surveying the interior of the omnibus, which was large, roomy, and constructed with extreme regularity, every part exactly answering to every other part. Over the door (the handle of which was outside) was written, ‘Lasciate ogni baldanza voi che entrate’ – at least, that was what was written, but Mr Bons said that it was Lashy arty something, and that baldanza was a mistake for speranza. His voice sounded as if he was in church. Meanwhile, the boy called to the cadaverous driver for two return tickets. They were handed in without a word. Mr Bons covered his face with his hand and again trembled. ‘Do you know who that is!’ he whispered, when the little window had shut upon them. ‘It is the impossible.’
    ‘Well, I don’t like him as much as Sir Thomas Browne, though I shouldn’t be surprised if he had even more in him.’
    ‘More in him?’ He stamped irritably. ‘By accident you have made the greatest discovery of the century, and all you can say is that there is more in this man. Do you remember those vellum books in my library, stamped with red lilies? This – sit still, I bring you stupendous news! – this is the man who wrote them .’
    The boy sat quite still. ‘I wonder if we shall see Mrs Gamp?’ he asked, after a civil pause.
    ‘Mrs——?’
    ‘Mrs Gamp and Mrs Harris. I like Mrs Harris. I came upon them quite suddenly. Mrs Gamp’s bandboxes have moved over the rainbow so badly. All the bottoms have fallen out, and two of the pippins off her bedstead tumbled into the stream.’
    ‘Out there sits the man who wrote my vellum books!’ thundered Mr Bons, ‘and you talk to me of Dickens and of Mrs Gamp?’
    ‘I know Mrs Gamp so well,’ he apologized. ‘I could not help being glad to see her. I recognized her voice. She was telling Mrs Harris about Mrs Prig.’
    ‘Did you spend the whole day in her elevating company?’
    ‘Oh, no. I raced. I met a man who took me out beyond to a