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 t

d 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,

ely unprecedented Wabble--unprecedented so far as Hoopdriver's experience went. It "showed off"--the most decadent sinuosity. It left

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 blinding

ther 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

looked uncommonly like a faint smile. And the things were--yes!-- RATIONALS! Suddenly an impulse to bolt from the situation became clamorous. Mr. Hoopdriver pedalled convulsive

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 t

had turned round and come back to him. The warm sunlight now was in her face. "Are you hurt?" she said. She had a pre

ully. He became painfully aware that large patches of gravel scarcel

'Miss.' (He knew 'Miss' was wrong, but it was deep-seated habit with him.) "I tried to pa

was my s

"--with a touch of superiority. "But yo

ngs passed the nadir. When he spoke again there was t

ter of fact. But that's no ex

bleeding," she

arked. "I didn't feel it

side pocket, and she whipped out a small packet of sticking-plaster with a pair of scissors in a sheath at the side, a

prostrate vehicle, her hands on her handle-bar. For the

RF!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Well, I'm blowed!--Talk about Slap Up!" (His aristocratic refinement rarely adorned his speech in his private soliloquies.) His mind was whirling. One

, will he NEVER be able to get up on the thing again? She will be round the corner in a minute. Once more.

uld he say when he overtook her? That scarcely disturbed him at first. How fine she had looked, flushed with the exertion of riding, breathing a little fast, but elastic and active! Talk about your ladylike, homekeeping girls with complexions like cold veal! But what should he say to her? That was a bother. And he could not lift his c

ishing. He set his teeth. Had he gained on her at all? "Monkey on a gridiron!" yelped a small boy. Hoopdriver redoubled his efforts. His breath became audible, his steering unsteady, his pedalling positively ferocious. A drop of perspiration ran into his eye, irritant as acid. The roa

ps of cotton. He balanced his machine against the grassy edge of the path and sat down pant

his side pocket and produced therefrom a brand-new cigarette case and a packet of Vansittart's Red Herring cigarettes. He filled the case. Then hi

I shall ever set eyes on her again. And she knew

floated into his mind with

y a blessed draper's assistant." (To be exact, he did not say blessed. The service of a shop may polish a man's exterior ways, but the 'prentices' dormitory is an indifferent school for either manners or morals.) He stood up an

personage in a perambulator. That healed him a little. "'Gentleman wizzer

should just l

uld he try and say something smart? He speculated what manner of girl she might be. Probably she was one of these here New Women. He had a persuasion the cult had been maligned. Anyhow she was a Lady. And rich people, too! Her machine couldn't have cost much under twenty pounds