'The poetry of motion! The REAL way to travel! The ONLY way to
travel! Here to-day--in next week to-morrow! Villages skipped, towns
and cities jumped--always somebody else's horizon! O bliss!
O poop-poop! O my! O my!'
'O STOP being an ass, Toad!' cried the Mole despairingly.
'And to think I never KNEW!' went on the Toad in a dreamy monotone.
'All those wasted years that lie behind me, I never knew, never even
DREAMT! But NOW--but now that I know, now that I fully realise! O
what a flowery track lies spread before me, henceforth! What
dust-clouds shall spring up behind me as I speed on my reckless way!
What carts I shall fling carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my
magnificent onset! Horrid little carts--common carts--canary-coloured
carts!'
'What are we to do with him?' asked the Mole of the Water Rat.
'Nothing at all,' replied the Rat firmly. 'Because there is really
nothing to be done. You see, I know him from of old. He is now
possessed. He has got a new craze, and it always takes him that way,
in its first stage. He'll continue like that for days now, like an
animal walking in a happy dream, quite useless for all practical
purposes.
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