the wheels of chance-第3章

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e　bundle　there；　for　fear　'e'd　bust　if　'e　didn't　ease　hisself　a　bit…　…'E〃　

But　Mr。　Hoopdriver　heard　no　more。　He　was　hopping　vigorously　along　the　road；　in　a　spasmodic　attempt　to　remount。He　missed　the　treadle　once　and　swore　viciously；　to　the　keeper's　immense　delight。　〃Nar！　Nar！〃　said　the　heath…keeper。

In　another　moment　Mr。　Hoopdriver　was　up；　and　after　one　terrific　lurch　of　the　machine；　the　heathkeeper　dropped　out　of　earshot。　Mr。　Hoopdriver　would　have　liked　to　look　back　at　his　enemy；　but　he　usually　twisted　round　and　upset　if　he　tried　that。　He　had　to　imagine　the　indignant　heath…keeper　telling　the　carter　all　about　it。　He　tried　to　infuse　as　much　disdain　aspossible　into　his　retreating　aspect。

He　drove　on　his　sinuous　way　down　the　dip　by　the　new　mere　and　up　the　little　rise　to　the　crest　of　the　hill　that　drops　into　Kingston　Vale；　and　so　remarkable　is　the　psychology　of　cycling；　that　he　rode　all　the　straighter　and　easier　because　the　emotions　the　heathkeeper　had　aroused　relieved　his　mind　of　the　constant　expectation　of　collapse　that　had　previously　unnerved　him。　To　ride　a　bicycle　properly　is　very　like　a　love　affairchiefly　it　　is　a　matter　of　faith。　Believe　you　do　it；　and　the　thing　is　done；　doubt；　and；　for　the　life　of　you；　you　cannot。

Now　you　may　perhaps　imagine　that　as　he　rode　on；　his　feelings　towards　the　heath…keeper　were　either　vindictive　or　remorseful；vindictive　for　the　aggravation　or　remorseful　for　his　own　injudicious　display　of　ill　temper。　As　a　matter　of　fact；　they　were　nothing　of　the　sort。　A　sudden；　a　wonderful　gratitude；　possessed　him。　The　Glory　of　the　Holidays　had　resumed　its　sway　with　a　sudden　accession　of　splendour。　At　the　crest　of　the　hill　he　put　his　feet　upon　the　footrests；　and　now　riding　moderately　straight；　went；　with　a　palpitating　brake；　down　that　excellent　descent。　A　new　delight　was　in　his　eyes；　quite　over　and　above　the　pleasure　of　rushing　through　the　keen；　sweet；　morning　air。　He　reached　out　his　thumb　and　twanged　his　bell　out　of　sheer　happiness。

〃'He's　a　bloomin'　Dookhe　is！'〃　said　Mr。　Hoopdriver　to　himself；　in　a　soft　undertone；　as　he　went　soaring　down　the　hill；　and　again；　〃'He's　a　bloomin'　Dook！〃'　He　opened　his　mouth　in　a　silent　laugh。　It　was　having　a　decent　cut　did　it。　His　social　superiority　had　been　so　evident　that　even　a　man　like　that　noticed　it。　No　more　Manchester　Department　for　ten　days！　Out　of　Manchester；　a　Man。　The　draper　Hoopdriver；　the　Hand；　had　vanished　from　existence。　Instead　was　a　gentleman；　a　man　of　pleasure；　with　a　five…pound　note；　two　sovereigns；　and　some　silver　at　various　convenient　points　of　his　person。　At　any　rate　as　good　as　a　Dook；　if　not　precisely　in　the　peerage。　Involuntarily　at　the　thought　of　his　funds　Hoopdriver's　right　hand　left　the　handle　and　sought　his　breast　pocket；　to　be　immediately　recalled　by　a　violent　swoop　of　the　machine　towards　the　cemetery。　Whirroo！　Just　missed　that　half…brick！　Mischievous　brutes　there　were　in　the　world　to　put　such　a　thing　in　the　road。　Some　blooming　'Arry　or　other！　Ought　to　prosecute　a　few　of　these　roughs；　and　the　rest　would　know　better。　That　must　be　the　buckle　of　the　wallet　was　rattling　on　the　mud…guard。　How　cheerfully　the　wheels　buzzed！

The　cemetery　was　very　silent　and　peaceful；　but　the　Vale　was　waking；　and　windows　rattled　and　squeaked　up；　and　a　white　dog　came　out　of　one　of　the　houses　and　yelped　at　him。　He　got　off；　rather　breathless；　at　the　foot　of　Kingston　Hill；　and　pushed　up。　Halfway　up；　an　early　milk　chariot　rattled　by　him；　two　dirty　men　with　bundles　came　hurrying　down。　Hoopdriver　felt　sure　they　were　burglars；　carrying　home　the　swag。

It　was　up　Kingston　Hill　that　he　first　noticed　a　peculiar　feeling；　a　slight　tightness　at　his　knees；　but　he　noticed；　too；　at　the　top　that　he　rode　straighter　than　he　did　before。　The　pleasure　of　riding　straight　blotted　out　these　first　intimations　of　fatigue。　A　man　on　horseback　appeared；　Hoopdriver；　in　a　tumult　of　soul　at　his　own　temerity；　passed　him。　Then　down　the　hill　into　Kingston；　with　the　screw　hammer；　behind　in　the　wallet；　rattling　against　the　oil　can。　He　passed；　without　misadventure；　a　fruiterer's　van　and　a　sluggish　cartload　of　bricks。　And　in　Kingston　Hoopdriver；　with　the　most　exquisite　sensations；　saw　the　shutters　half　removed　from　a　draper's　shop；　and　two　yawning　youths；　in　dusty　old　black　jackets　and　with　dirty　white　comforters　about　their　necks；　clearing　up　the　planks　and　boxes　and　wrappers　in　the　window；　preparatory　to　dressing　it　out。　Even　so　had　Hoopdriver　been　on　the　previous　day。　But　now；　was　he　not　a　bloomin'　Dook；　palpably　in　the　sight　of　common　men？　Then　round　the　corner　to　the　rightbell　banged　furiouslyand　so　along　the　road　to　Surbiton。

Whoop　for　Freedom　and　Adventure！　Every　now　and　then　a　house　with　an　expression　of　sleepy　surprise　would　open　its　eye　as　he　passed；　and　to　the　right　of　him　for　a　mile　or　so　the　weltering　Thames　flashed　and　glittered。　Talk　of　your　joie　de　vivre。　Albeit　with　a　certain　cramping　sensation　about　the　knees　and　calves　slowly　forcing　itself　upon　his　attention。



THE　SHAMEFUL　EPISODE　OF　THE　YOUNG　LADY　IN　GREY

V

Now　you　must　understand　that　Mr。　Hoopdriver　was　not　one　of　your　fast　young　men。　If　he　had　been　King　Lemuel；　he　could　not　have　profited　more　by　his　mother's　instructions。　He　regarded　the　feminine　sex　as　something　to　bow　to　and　smirk　at　from　a　safe　distance。　Years　of　the　intimate　remoteness　of　a　counter　leave　their　mark　upon　a　man。　It　was　an　adventure　for　him　to　take　one　of　the　Young　Ladies　of　the　establishment　to　church　on　a　Sunday。　Few　modern　young　men　could　have　merited　less　the　epithet　〃Dorg。〃　But　I　have　thought　at　times　that　his　machine　may　have　had　something　of　the　blade　in　its　metal。　Decidedly　it　was　a　machine　with　a　past。　Mr。　Hoopdriver　had　bought　it　second…hand　from　Hare's　in　Putney；　and　Hare　said　it　had　had　several　owners。　Second…hand　was　scarcely　the　word　for　it；　and　Elare　was　mildly　puzzled　that　he　should　be　selling　such　an　antiquity。　He　said　it　was　perfectly　sound；　if　a　little　old…fashioned；　but　he　was　absolutely　silent　about　its　moral　character。　It　may　even　have　begun　its　career　with　a　poet；　say；　in　his　glorious　youth。　It　may　have　been　the　bicycle　of　a　Really　Bad　Man。　No　one　who　has　ever　ridden　a　cycle　of　any　kind　but　will　witness　that　the　things　are　unaccountably　prone　to　pick　up　bad　habitsand　keep　them。

It　is　undeniable　that　it　became　convulsed　with　the　most　violent　emotions　directly　the　Young　Lady　in　Grey　appeared。　It　began　an　absolutely　unprecedented　Wabbleunprecedented　so　far　as　Hoopdriver's　experience　went。　It　〃showed　off〃the　most　decadent　sinuosity。　It　left　a　track　like　one　of　Beardsley's　feathers。　He　suddenly　realised；　too；　that　his　cap　was　loose　on　his　head　and　his　breath　a　mere　remnant。

The　Young　Lady　in　Grey　was　also　riding　a　bicycle。　She　was　dressed　in　a　beautiful　bluish…gray；　and　the　sun　behind　her　drew　her　outline　in　gold　and　left　the　rest　in　shadow。　Hoopdriver　was　dimly　aware　that　she　was　young；　rather　slender；　dark；　and　with　a　bright　colour　and　bright　eyes。　Strange　doubts　possessed　him　as　to　the　nature　of　her　nether　costume。　He　had　heard　of　such　things　of　course。　French；　perhaps。　Her　handles　glittered；　a　jet　of　sunlight　splashed　off　her　bell　blindingly。　She　was　approaching　the　high　road　along　an　affluent　from　the　villas　of　Surbiton。　fee　roads　converged　slantingly。　She　was　travelling　at　about　the　same　pace　as　Mr。　Hoopdriver。　The　appearances　pointed　to　a　meeting　at　the　fork　of　the　roads。

Hoopdriver　was　seized　with　a　horrible　conflict　of　doubts。　By　contrast　with　her　he　rode　disgracefully。　Had　he　not　better　get　off　at　once　and　pretend　something　was　wrong　with　his　treadle　？　Yet　even　the　end　of　getting　off　was　an　uncertainty。　That　last　occasion　on　Putney　Heath！　On　the　other　hand；　what　would　happen　if　he　kept　on？　To　go　very　slow　seemed　the　abnegation　of　his　manhood。　To　crawl　after　a　mere　schoolgirl！　Besides；　she　was　not　riding　very　fast。　On　the　other　hand；　to　thrust　himself　in　front　of　her；　consuming　the　road　in　his　tendril…like　advance；　seemed　an　incivilitygreed。　He　would　leave　her　such　a　very　little。　His　business　training　made　him　prone　to　bow　and　step　aside。　If　only　one　could　take　one's　hands　off　the　handles；　one　might　pass　with　a　silent　elevation　of　the　hat；　of　course。　But　even　that　was　a　little　suggestive　of　a　funeral。

Meanwhile　the　roads　converged。　She　was　looking　at　him。　She　was　flushed；　a　little　thin；　and　had　very　bright　eyes。　Her　red　lips　fell　apart。　She　may　have　been　riding　hard；　but　it　looked　uncommonly　like　a　faint　smile。　And　the　things　wereyes！　RATIONALS！　Suddenly　an　impulse　to　bolt　from　the　situation　became　clamorous。　Mr。　Hoopdriver　pedalled　convulsively；　intending　to　pass　her。　He　jerked　against　some　tin　thing　on　the　road；　and　it　flew　up　between　front　wheel　and　mud…guard。　He　twisted　round　towards　her。　Had　the　machine　a　devil？

At　that　supreme　moment　it　came　across　him　that　he　would　have　done　wiser　to　dismount。　He　gave　a　frantic　'whoop'　and　tried　to　get　round；　then；　as　he　seemed　falling　over；　he　pulled　the　handles　straight　again　and　to　the　left　by　an　instinctive　motion；　and　shot　behind　her　hind　wheel；　missing　her　by　a　hair's　breadth。　The　pavement　kerb　awaited　him。　He　tried　to　recover；　and　found　himself　jumped　up　on　the　pavement　and　riding　squarely　at　a　neat　wooden　paling。　He　struck　this　with　a　terrific　impact　and　shot　forward　off　his　saddle　into　a　clumsy　entanglement。　Then　he　began　to　tumble　over　sideways；　and　completed　the　entire　figure　in　a　sitting　position　on　the　gravel；　with　his　feet　between　the　fork　and　the　stay　of　the　machine。　The　concussion　on　the　gravel　shook　his　entire　being。　He　remained　in　that　position；　wishing　that　he　had　broken　his　neck；　wishing　even　more　heartily　that　he　had　never　been　born。　The　glory　of　life　had　departed。　Bloomin'　Dook；　indeed！　These　unwomanly　women！

There　was　a　soft　whirr；　the　click　of　a　brake；　two　footfalls；　and　the　Young　Lady　in　Grey　stood　holding　her　machine。　She　had　turned　round　and　come　back　to　him。　The　warm　sunlight　now　was　in　her　face。　〃Are　you　hurt？〃　she　said。　She　had　a　pretty；　clear；　girlish　voice。　She　was　really　very　youngquite　a　girl；　in　fact。　And　rode　so　well！　It　was　a　bitter　draught。

Mr。　Hoopdriver　stood　up　at　once。　〃Not　a　bit；〃　he　said；　a　little　ruefully。　He　became　painfully　aware　that　large　patches　of　gravel　scarcely　improve　the　appearance　of　a　Norfolk　suit。　〃I'm　very　sorry　indeed〃

〃It's　my　fault；〃　she　said；　interrupting　and　so　saving　him　on　the　very　verge　of　calling　her　'Miss。'　（He　knew　'Miss'　was　wrong；　but　it　was　deep…seated　habit　with　him。）　〃I　tried　to　pass　you　on　the　wrong　side。〃　Her　face　and　eyes　seemed　all　alive。　〃It's　my　place　to　be　sorry。〃

〃But　it　was　my　steering〃

〃I　ought　to　have　seen　you　were　a　Novice〃with　a　touch　of　superiority。　〃But　you　rode　so　straight　coming　along　there！〃

She　really　wasdashed　pretty。　Mr。　Hoopdriver's　feelings　passed　the　nadir。　When　he　spoke　again　there　was　the　faintest　flavour　of　the　aristocratic　in　his　voice。

〃It's　my　first　ride；　as　a　matter　of　fact。　But　that's　no　excuse　for　my　ah！　blundering〃

〃Your　finger's　bleeding；〃　she　said；　abruptly。

He　saw　his　knuckle　was　barked。　〃I　didn't　feel　it；〃　he　said；　feeling　manly。

〃You　don't　at　first。　Have　you　any　stickingplaster？　If　not〃　She　balanced　her　machine　against　herself。　She　had　a　little　side　pocket；　and　she　whipped　out　a　small　packet　of　sticking…plaster　with　a　pair　of　scissors　in　a　sheath