We should be in at Pangbourne by five.
We should finish dinner at, say, half-past six.

After that we could walk about the village in the pouring rain until bed-time; or we could sit in a dimly-lit bar-parlour and read the almanac.
[Picture: Lady in skirt] "Why, the Alhambra would be almost more lively," said Harris, venturing his head outside the cover for a moment and taking a survey of the sky.
"With a little supper at the -- - {311} to follow," I added, half unconsciously.
"Yes it's almost a pity we've made up our minds to stick to this boat," answered Harris; and then there was silence for a while.
"If we _hadn't_ made up our minds to contract our certain deaths in this bally old coffin," observed George, casting a glance of intense malevolence over the boat, "it might be worth while to mention that there's a train leaves Pangbourne, I know, soon after five, which would just land us in town in comfortable time to get a chop, and then go on to the place you mentioned afterwards." Nobody spoke.

We looked at one another, and each one seemed to see his own mean and guilty thoughts reflected in the faces of the others.

In silence, we dragged out and overhauled the Gladstone.

We looked up the river and down the river; not a soul was in sight! Twenty minutes later, three figures, followed by a shamed-looking dog, might have been seen creeping stealthily from the boat-house at the "Swan" towards the railway station, dressed in the following neither neat nor gaudy costume: Black leather shoes, dirty; suit of boating flannels, very dirty; brown felt hat, much battered; mackintosh, very wet; umbrella.
We had deceived the boatman at Pangbourne.