I'm on, Bert," he said.

"Right O!" said Bert, and, "Now we shan't be long."

"We needn't start without capital neither," said Grubb. "If we take the
best of these machines up to the Bicycle Mart in Finsbury we'd raise six
or seven pounds on 'em. We could easy do that to-morrow before anybody
much was about...."

"Nice to think of old Suet-and-Bones coming round to make his usual row
with us, and finding a card up 'Closed for Repairs.'"

"We'll do that," said Grubb with zest--"we'll do that. And we'll put
up another notice, and jest arst all inquirers to go round to 'im and
inquire. See? Then they'll know all about us."

Before the day was out the whole enterprise was planned. They decided at
first that they would call themselves the Naval Mr. O's, a plagiarism,
and not perhaps a very good one, from the title of the well-known troupe
of "Scarlet Mr. E's," and Bert rather clung to the idea of a uniform of
bright blue serge, with a lot of gold lace and cord and ornamentation,
rather like a naval officer's, but more so. But that had to be abandoned
as impracticable, it would have taken too much time and money to
prepare. They perceived they must wear some cheaper and more readily
prepared costume, and Grubb fell back on white dominoes. They
entertained the notion for a time of selecting the two worst machines
from the hiring-stock, painting them over with crimson enamel paint,
replacing the bells by the loudest sort of motor-horn, and doing a ride
about to begin and end the entertainment. They doubted the advisability
of this step.

"There's people in the world," said Bert, "who wouldn't recognise us,
who'd know them bicycles again like a shot, and we don't want to go on
with no old stories. We want a fresh start."

"I do," said Grubb, "badly."

"We want to forget things--and cut all these rotten old worries. They
ain't doin' us good."

Nevertheless, they decided to take the risk of these bicycles, and they
decided their costumes should be brown stockings and sandals, and cheap
unbleached sheets with a hole cut in the middle, and wigs and beards of
tow. The rest their normal selves! "The Desert Dervishes," they would
call themselves, and their chief songs would be those popular ditties,
"In my Trailer," and "What Price Hair-pins Now?"

They decided to begin with small seaside places, and gradually, as they
gained confidence, attack larger centres. To begin with they selected
Littlestone in Kent, chiefly because