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diff --git a/old/old/1264-h/1264-h.htm b/old/old/1264-h/1264-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b56cb8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/1264-h/1264-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8252 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Wheels of Chance; a Bicycling Idyll, by H.G. Wells + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wheels of Chance, by H. G. Wells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Wheels of Chance + A Bicycling Idyll + +Author: H. G. Wells + +Release Date: November 10, 2009 [EBook #1264] +Last Updated: September 17, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHEELS OF CHANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Dianne Bean, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE WHEELS OF CHANCE;<br /><br /> A BICYCLING IDYLL + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By H.G. Wells + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1896 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTER IN THE STORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. THE RIDING FORTH OF MR. HOOPDRIVER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. THE SHAMEFUL EPISODE OF THE YOUNG LADY IN + GREY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. ON THE ROAD TO RIPLEY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER WAS HAUNTED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X. THE IMAGININGS OF MR. HOOPDRIVER'S HEART + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI. OMISSIONS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII. THE DREAMS OF MR. HOOPDRIVER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII. HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER WENT TO HASLEMERE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV. HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER REACHED MIDHURST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV. AN INTERLUDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI. OF THE ARTIFICIAL IN MAN, AND OF THE + ZEITGEIST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII. THE ENCOUNTER AT MIDHURST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX. THE PURSUIT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXI. AT BOGNOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIV. THE MOONLIGHT RIDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXVI. THE SURBITON INTERLUDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVII. THE AWAKENING OF MR. HOOPDRIVER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVIII. THE DEPARTURE FROM CHICHESTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXIX. THE UNEXPECTED ANECDOTE OF THE LION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXX. THE RESCUE EXPEDITION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXXII. MR. HOOPDRIVER, KNIGHT ERRANT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXIII. THE ABASEMENT OF MR. HOOPDRIVER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXVII. IN THE NEW FOREST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXXVIII. AT THE RUFUS STONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> XXXIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> XL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> XLI. THE ENVOY </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I. THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTER IN THE STORY + </h2> + <p> + If you (presuming you are of the sex that does such things)—if you + had gone into the Drapery Emporium—which is really only magnificent + for shop—of Messrs. Antrobus & Co.—a perfectly fictitious + “Co.,” by the bye—of Putney, on the 14th of August, 1895, had turned + to the right-hand side, where the blocks of white linen and piles of + blankets rise up to the rail from which the pink and blue prints depend, + you might have been served by the central figure of this story that is now + beginning. He would have come forward, bowing and swaying, he would have + extended two hands with largish knuckles and enormous cuffs over the + counter, and he would have asked you, protruding a pointed chin and + without the slightest anticipation of pleasure in his manner, what he + might have the pleasure of showing you. Under certain circumstances—as, + for instance, hats, baby linen, gloves, silks, lace, or curtains—he + would simply have bowed politely, and with a drooping expression, and + making a kind of circular sweep, invited you to “step this way,” and so + led you beyond his ken; but under other and happier conditions,—huckaback, + blankets, dimity, cretonne, linen, calico, are cases in point,—he + would have requested you to take a seat, emphasising the hospitality by + leaning over the counter and gripping a chair back in a spasmodic manner, + and so proceeded to obtain, unfold, and exhibit his goods for your + consideration. Under which happier circumstances you might—if of an + observing turn of mind and not too much of a housewife to be inhuman—have + given the central figure of this story less cursory attention. + </p> + <p> + Now if you had noticed anything about him, it would have been chiefly to + notice how little he was noticeable. He wore the black morning coat, the + black tie, and the speckled grey nether parts (descending into shadow and + mystery below the counter) of his craft. He was of a pallid complexion, + hair of a kind of dirty fairness, greyish eyes, and a skimpy, immature + moustache under his peaked indeterminate nose. His features were all + small, but none ill-shaped. A rosette of pins decorated the lappel of his + coat. His remarks, you would observe, were entirely what people used to + call cliche, formulae not organic to the occasion, but stereotyped ages + ago and learnt years since by heart. “This, madam,” he would say, “is + selling very well.” “We are doing a very good article at four three a + yard.” “We could show you something better, of course.” “No trouble, + madam, I assure you.” Such were the simple counters of his intercourse. + So, I say, he would have presented himself to your superficial + observation. He would have danced about behind the counter, have neatly + refolded the goods he had shown you, have put on one side those you + selected, extracted a little book with a carbon leaf and a tinfoil sheet + from a fixture, made you out a little bill in that weak flourishing hand + peculiar to drapers, and have bawled “Sayn!” Then a puffy little + shop-walker would have come into view, looked at the bill for a second, + very hard (showing you a parting down the middle of his head meanwhile), + have scribbled a still more flourishing J. M. all over the document, have + asked you if there was nothing more, have stood by you—supposing + that you were paying cash—until the central figure of this story + reappeared with the change. One glance more at him, and the puffy little + shop-walker would have been bowing you out, with fountains of civilities + at work all about you. And so the interview would have terminated. + </p> + <p> + But real literature, as distinguished from anecdote, does not concern + itself with superficial appearances alone. Literature is revelation. + Modern literature is indecorous revelation. It is the duty of the earnest + author to tell you what you would not have seen—even at the cost of + some blushes. And the thing that you would not have seen about this young + man, and the thing of the greatest moment to this story, the thing that + must be told if the book is to be written, was—let us face it + bravely—the Remarkable Condition of this Young Man's Legs. + </p> + <p> + Let us approach the business with dispassionate explicitness. Let us + assume something of the scientific spirit, the hard, almost professorial + tone of the conscientious realist. Let us treat this young man's legs as a + mere diagram, and indicate the points of interest with the unemotional + precision of a lecturer's pointer. And so to our revelation. On the + internal aspect of the right ankle of this young man you would have + observed, ladies and gentlemen, a contusion and an abrasion; on the + internal aspect of the left ankle a contusion also; on its external aspect + a large yellowish bruise. On his left shin there were two bruises, one a + leaden yellow graduating here and there into purple, and another, + obviously of more recent date, of a blotchy red—tumid and + threatening. Proceeding up the left leg in a spiral manner, an unnatural + hardness and redness would have been discovered on the upper aspect of the + calf, and above the knee and on the inner side, an extraordinary expanse + of bruised surface, a kind of closely stippled shading of contused points. + The right leg would be found to be bruised in a marvellous manner all + about and under the knee, and particularly on the interior aspect of the + knee. So far we may proceed with our details. Fired by these discoveries, + an investigator might perhaps have pursued his inquiries further—to + bruises on the shoulders, elbows, and even the finger joints, of the + central figure of our story. He had indeed been bumped and battered at an + extraordinary number of points. But enough of realistic description is as + good as a feast, and we have exhibited enough for our purpose. Even in + literature one must know where to draw the line. + </p> + <p> + Now the reader may be inclined to wonder how a respectable young shopman + should have got his legs, and indeed himself generally, into such a + dreadful condition. One might fancy that he had been sitting with his + nether extremities in some complicated machinery, a threshing-machine, + say, or one of those hay-making furies. But Sherlock Holmes (now happily + dead) would have fancied nothing of the kind. He would have recognised at + once that the bruises on the internal aspect of the left leg, considered + in the light of the distribution of the other abrasions and contusions, + pointed unmistakably to the violent impact of the Mounting Beginner upon + the bicycling saddle, and that the ruinous state of the right knee was + equally eloquent of the concussions attendant on that person's hasty, + frequently causeless, and invariably ill-conceived descents. One large + bruise on the shin is even more characteristic of the 'prentice cyclist, + for upon every one of them waits the jest of the unexpected treadle. You + try at least to walk your machine in an easy manner, and whack!—you + are rubbing your shin. So out of innocence we ripen. Two bruises on that + place mark a certain want of aptitude in learning, such as one might + expect in a person unused to muscular exercise. Blisters on the hands are + eloquent of the nervous clutch of the wavering rider. And so forth, until + Sherlock is presently explaining, by the help of the minor injuries, that + the machine ridden is an old-fashioned affair with a fork instead of the + diamond frame, a cushioned tire, well worn on the hind wheel, and a gross + weight all on of perhaps three-and-forty pounds. + </p> + <p> + The revelation is made. Behind the decorous figure of the attentive + shopman that I had the honour of showing you at first, rises a vision of a + nightly struggle, of two dark figures and a machine in a dark road,—the + road, to be explicit, from Roehampton to Putney Hill,—and with this + vision is the sound of a heel spurning the gravel, a gasping and grunting, + a shouting of “Steer, man, steer!” a wavering unsteady flight, a spasmodic + turning of the missile edifice of man and machine, and a collapse. Then + you descry dimly through the dusk the central figure of this story sitting + by the roadside and rubbing his leg at some new place, and his friend, + sympathetic (but by no means depressed), repairing the displacement of the + handle-bar. + </p> + <p> + Thus even in a shop assistant does the warmth of manhood assert itself, + and drive him against all the conditions of his calling, against the + counsels of prudence and the restrictions of his means, to seek the + wholesome delights of exertion and danger and pain. And our first + examination of the draper reveals beneath his draperies—the man! To + which initial fact (among others) we shall come again in the end. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + But enough of these revelations. The central figure of our story is now + going along behind the counter, a draper indeed, with your purchases in + his arms, to the warehouse, where the various articles you have selected + will presently be packed by the senior porter and sent to you. Returning + thence to his particular place, he lays hands on a folded piece of + gingham, and gripping the corners of the folds in his hands, begins to + straighten them punctiliously. Near him is an apprentice, apprenticed to + the same high calling of draper's assistant, a ruddy, red-haired lad in a + very short tailless black coat and a very high collar, who is deliberately + unfolding and refolding some patterns of cretonne. By twenty-one he too + may hope to be a full-blown assistant, even as Mr. Hoopdriver. Prints + depend from the brass rails above them, behind are fixtures full of white + packages containing, as inscriptions testify, Lino, Hd Bk, and Mull. You + might imagine to see them that the two were both intent upon nothing but + smoothness of textile and rectitude of fold. But to tell the truth, + neither is thinking of the mechanical duties in hand. The assistant is + dreaming of the delicious time—only four hours off now—when he + will resume the tale of his bruises and abrasions. The apprentice is + nearer the long long thoughts of boyhood, and his imagination rides + cap-a-pie through the chambers of his brain, seeking some knightly quest + in honour of that Fair Lady, the last but one of the girl apprentices to + the dress-making upstairs. He inclines rather to street fighting against + revolutionaries—because then she could see him from the window. + </p> + <p> + Jerking them back to the present comes the puffy little shop-walker, with + a paper in his hand. The apprentice becomes extremely active. The + shopwalker eyes the goods in hand. “Hoopdriver,” he says, “how's that line + of g-sez-x ginghams?” + </p> + <p> + Hoopdriver returns from an imaginary triumph over the uncertainties of + dismounting. “They're going fairly well, sir. But the larger checks seem + hanging.” + </p> + <p> + The shop-walker brings up parallel to the counter. “Any particular time + when you want your holidays?” he asks. + </p> + <p> + Hoopdriver pulls at his skimpy moustache. “No—Don't want them too + late, sir, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “How about this day week?” + </p> + <p> + Hoopdriver becomes rigidly meditative, gripping the corners of the gingham + folds in his hands. His face is eloquent of conflicting considerations. + Can he learn it in a week? That's the question. Otherwise Briggs will get + next week, and he will have to wait until September—when the weather + is often uncertain. He is naturally of a sanguine disposition. All drapers + have to be, or else they could never have the faith they show in the + beauty, washability, and unfading excellence of the goods they sell you. + The decision comes at last. “That'll do me very well,” said Mr. + Hoopdriver, terminating the pause. + </p> + <p> + The die is cast. + </p> + <p> + The shop-walker makes a note of it and goes on to Briggs in the “dresses,” + the next in the strict scale of precedence of the Drapery Emporium. Mr. + Hoopdriver in alternating spasms anon straightens his gingham and anon + becomes meditative, with his tongue in the hollow of his decaying wisdom + tooth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + At supper that night, holiday talk held undisputed sway. Mr. Pritchard + spoke of “Scotland,” Miss Isaacs clamoured of Bettws-y-Coed, Mr. Judson + displayed a proprietary interest in the Norfolk Broads. “I?” said + Hoopdriver when the question came to him. “Why, cycling, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “You're never going to ride that dreadful machine of yours, day after + day?” said Miss Howe of the Costume Department. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” said Hoopdriver as calmly as possible, pulling at the insufficient + moustache. “I'm going for a Cycling Tour. Along the South Coast.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I hope, Mr. Hoopdriver, is that you'll get fine weather,” said + Miss Howe. “And not come any nasty croppers.” + </p> + <p> + “And done forget some tinscher of arnica in yer bag,” said the junior + apprentice in the very high collar. (He had witnessed one of the lessons + at the top of Putney Hill.) + </p> + <p> + “You stow it,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, looking hard and threateningly at the + junior apprentice, and suddenly adding in a tone of bitter contempt,—“Jampot.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm getting fairly safe upon it now,” he told Miss Howe. + </p> + <p> + At other times Hoopdriver might have further resented the satirical + efforts of the apprentice, but his mind was too full of the projected Tour + to admit any petty delicacies of dignity. He left the supper table early, + so that he might put in a good hour at the desperate gymnastics up the + Roehampton Road before it would be time to come back for locking up. When + the gas was turned off for the night he was sitting on the edge of his + bed, rubbing arnica into his knee—a new and very big place—and + studying a Road Map of the South of England. Briggs of the “dresses,” who + shared the room with him, was sitting up in bed and trying to smoke in the + dark. Briggs had never been on a cycle in his life, but he felt + Hoopdriver's inexperience and offered such advice as occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + “Have the machine thoroughly well oiled,” said Briggs, “carry one or two + lemons with you, don't tear yourself to death the first day, and sit + upright. Never lose control of the machine, and always sound the bell on + every possible opportunity. You mind those things, and nothing very much + can't happen to you, Hoopdriver—you take my word.” + </p> + <p> + He would lapse into silence for a minute, save perhaps for a curse or so + at his pipe, and then break out with an entirely different set of tips. + </p> + <p> + “Avoid running over dogs, Hoopdriver, whatever you do. It's one of the + worst things you can do to run over a dog. Never let the machine buckle—there + was a man killed only the other day through his wheel buckling—don't + scorch, don't ride on the foot-path, keep your own side of the road, and + if you see a tramline, go round the corner at once, and hurry off into the + next county—and always light up before dark. You mind just a few + little things like that, Hoopdriver, and nothing much can't happen to you—you + take my word.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are!” said Hoopdriver. “Good-night, old man.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” said Briggs, and there was silence for a space, save for the + succulent respiration of the pipe. Hoopdriver rode off into Dreamland on + his machine, and was scarcely there before he was pitched back into the + world of sense again.—Something—what was it? + </p> + <p> + “Never oil the steering. It's fatal,” a voice that came from round a + fitful glow of light, was saying. “And clean the chain daily with + black-lead. You mind just a few little things like that—” + </p> + <p> + “Lord LOVE us!” said Hoopdriver, and pulled the bedclothes over his ears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. THE RIDING FORTH OF MR. HOOPDRIVER + </h2> + <p> + Only those who toil six long days out of the seven, and all the year + round, save for one brief glorious fortnight or ten days in the summer + time, know the exquisite sensations of the First Holiday Morning. All the + dreary, uninteresting routine drops from you suddenly, your chains fall + about your feet. All at once you are Lord of yourself, Lord of every hour + in the long, vacant day; you may go where you please, call none Sir or + Madame, have a lappel free of pins, doff your black morning coat, and wear + the colour of your heart, and be a Man. You grudge sleep, you grudge + eating, and drinking even, their intrusion on those exquisite moments. + There will be no more rising before breakfast in casual old clothing, to + go dusting and getting ready in a cheerless, shutter-darkened, + wrappered-up shop, no more imperious cries of, “Forward, Hoopdriver,” no + more hasty meals, and weary attendance on fitful old women, for ten + blessed days. The first morning is by far the most glorious, for you hold + your whole fortune in your hands. Thereafter, every night, comes a pang, a + spectre, that will not be exorcised—the premonition of the return. + The shadow of going back, of being put in the cage again for another + twelve months, lies blacker and blacker across the sunlight. But on the + first morning of the ten the holiday has no past, and ten days seems as + good as infinity. + </p> + <p> + And it was fine, full of a promise of glorious days, a deep blue sky with + dazzling piles of white cloud here and there, as though celestial + haymakers had been piling the swathes of last night's clouds into cocks + for a coming cartage. There were thrushes in the Richmond Road, and a lark + on Putney Heath. The freshness of dew was in the air; dew or the relics of + an overnight shower glittered on the leaves and grass. Hoopdriver had + breakfasted early by Mrs. Gunn's complaisance. He wheeled his machine up + Putney Hill, and his heart sang within him. Halfway up, a + dissipated-looking black cat rushed home across the road and vanished + under a gate. All the big red-brick houses behind the variegated shrubs + and trees had their blinds down still, and he would not have changed + places with a soul in any one of them for a hundred pounds. + </p> + <p> + He had on his new brown cycling suit—a handsome Norfolk jacket thing + for 30/(sp.)—and his legs—those martyr legs—were more + than consoled by thick chequered stockings, “thin in the foot, thick in + the leg,” for all they had endured. A neat packet of American cloth behind + the saddle contained his change of raiment, and the bell and the + handle-bar and the hubs and lamp, albeit a trifle freckled by wear, + glittered blindingly in the rising sunlight. And at the top of the hill, + after only one unsuccessful attempt, which, somehow, terminated on the + green, Hoopdriver mounted, and with a stately and cautious restraint in + his pace, and a dignified curvature of path, began his great Cycling Tour + along the Southern Coast. + </p> + <p> + There is only one phrase to describe his course at this stage, and that is—voluptuous + curves. He did not ride fast, he did not ride straight, an exacting critic + might say he did not ride well—but he rode generously, opulently, + using the whole road and even nibbling at the footpath. The excitement + never flagged. So far he had never passed or been passed by anything, but + as yet the day was young and the road was clear. He doubted his steering + so much that, for the present, he had resolved to dismount at the approach + of anything else upon wheels. The shadows of the trees lay very long and + blue across the road, the morning sunlight was like amber fire. + </p> + <p> + At the cross-roads at the top of West Hill, where the cattle trough + stands, he turned towards Kingston and set himself to scale the little bit + of ascent. An early heath-keeper, in his velveteen jacket, marvelled at + his efforts. And while he yet struggled, the head of a carter rose over + the brow. + </p> + <p> + At the sight of him Mr. Hoopdriver, according to his previous + determination, resolved to dismount. He tightened the brake, and the + machine stopped dead. He was trying to think what he did with his right + leg whilst getting off. He gripped the handles and released the brake, + standing on the left pedal and waving his right foot in the air. Then—these + things take so long in the telling—he found the machine was falling + over to the right. While he was deciding upon a plan of action, + gravitation appears to have been busy. He was still irresolute when he + found the machine on the ground, himself kneeling upon it, and a vague + feeling in his mind that again Providence had dealt harshly with his shin. + This happened when he was just level with the heathkeeper. The man in the + approaching cart stood up to see the ruins better. + </p> + <p> + “THAT ain't the way to get off,” said the heathkeeper. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver picked up the machine. The handle was twisted askew again + He said something under his breath. He would have to unscrew the beastly + thing. + </p> + <p> + “THAT ain't the way to get off,” repeated the heathkeeper, after a + silence. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> know that,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, testily, determined to overlook + the new specimen on his shin at any cost. He unbuckled the wallet behind + the saddle, to get out a screw hammer. + </p> + <p> + “If you know it ain't the way to get off—whaddyer do it for?” said + the heath-keeper, in a tone of friendly controversy. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver got out his screw hammer and went to the handle. He was + annoyed. “That's my business, I suppose,” he said, fumbling with the + screw. The unusual exertion had made his hands shake frightfully. + </p> + <p> + The heath-keeper became meditative, and twisted his stick in his hands + behind his back. “You've broken yer 'andle, ain't yer?” he said presently. + Just then the screw hammer slipped off the nut. Mr. Hoopdriver used a + nasty, low word. + </p> + <p> + “They're trying things, them bicycles,” said the heath-keeper, charitably. + “Very trying.” Mr. Hoopdriver gave the nut a vicious turn and suddenly + stood up—he was holding the front wheel between his knees. “I wish,” + said he, with a catch in his voice, “I wish you'd leave off staring at + me.” + </p> + <p> + Then with the air of one who has delivered an ultimatum, he began + replacing the screw hammer in the wallet. + </p> + <p> + The heath-keeper never moved. Possibly he raised his eyebrows, and + certainly he stared harder than he did before. “You're pretty unsociable,” + he said slowly, as Mr. Hoopdriver seized the handles and stood ready to + mount as soon as the cart had passed. + </p> + <p> + The indignation gathered slowly but surely. “Why don't you ride on a + private road of your own if no one ain't to speak to you?” asked the + heath-keeper, perceiving more and more clearly the bearing of the matter. + “Can't no one make a passin' remark to you, Touchy? Ain't I good enough to + speak to you? Been struck wooden all of a sudden?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver stared into the Immensity of the Future. He was rigid with + emotion. It was like abusing the Lions in Trafalgar Square. But the + heathkeeper felt his honour was at stake. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you make no remarks to 'IM,” said the keeper as the carter came up + broadside to them. “'E's a bloomin' dook, 'e is. 'E don't converse with no + one under a earl. 'E's off to Windsor, 'e is; that's why 'e's stickin' his + be'ind out so haughty. Pride! Why, 'e's got so much of it, 'e has to carry + some of it in that there bundle there, for fear 'e'd bust if 'e didn't + ease hisself a bit—'E—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 affair—chiefly + it is a matter of faith. Believe you do it, and the thing is done; doubt, + and, for the life of you, you cannot. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “'He's a bloomin' Dook—he 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 right—bell banged furiously—and so along the + road to Surbiton. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. THE SHAMEFUL EPISODE OF THE YOUNG LADY IN GREY + </h2> + <p> + 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 Hare 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 habits—and keep + them. + </p> + <p> + It is undeniable that it became convulsed with the most violent emotions + directly the Young Lady in Grey appeared. It began an absolutely + unprecedented Wabble—unprecedented 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 incivility—greed. 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 were—yes!—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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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 young—quite + a girl, in fact. And rode so well! It was a bitter draught. + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But it was my steering—” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have seen you were a Novice”—with a touch of + superiority. “But you rode so straight coming along there!” + </p> + <p> + She really was—dashed pretty. Mr. Hoopdriver's feelings passed the + nadir. When he spoke again there was the faintest flavour of the + aristocratic in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “It's my first ride, as a matter of fact. But that's no excuse for my ah! + blundering—” + </p> + <p> + “Your finger's bleeding,” she said, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + He saw his knuckle was barked. “I didn't feel it,” he said, feeling manly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't at first. Have you any sticking-plaster? 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 at the side, and cut off a generous portion. He had a wild + impulse to ask her to stick it on for him. Controlled. “Thank you,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Machine all right?” she asked, looking past him at the prostrate vehicle, + her hands on her handle-bar. For the first time Hoopdriver did not feel + proud of his machine. + </p> + <p> + He turned and began to pick up the fallen fabric. He looked over his + shoulder, and she was gone, turned his head over the other shoulder down + the road, and she was riding off. “ORF!” 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 + fact was clear. A most delightful and novel human being had flashed across + his horizon and was going out of his life again. The Holiday madness was + in his blood. She looked round! + </p> + <p> + At that he rushed his machine into the road, and began a hasty ascent. + Unsuccessful. Try again. Confound it, will he NEVER be able to get up on + the thing again? She will be round the corner in a minute. Once more. Ah! + Pedal! Wabble! No! Right this time! He gripped the handles and put his + head down. He would overtake her. + </p> + <p> + The situation was primordial. The Man beneath prevailed for a moment over + the civilised superstructure, the Draper. He pushed at the pedals with + archaic violence. So Palaeolithic man may have ridden his simple bicycle + of chipped flint in pursuit of his exogamous affinity. She vanished round + the corner. His effort was Titanic. What should 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 cap without risking a repetition of his previous + ignominy. She was a real Young Lady. No mistake about that! None of your + blooming shop girls. (There is no greater contempt in the world than that + of shop men for shop girls, unless it be that of shop girls for shop men.) + Phew! This was work. A certain numbness came and went at his knees. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask to whom I am indebted?” he panted to himself, trying it over. + That might do. Lucky he had a card case! A hundred a shilling—while + you wait. He was getting winded. The road was certainly a bit uphill. He + turned the corner and saw a long stretch of road, and a grey dress + vanishing. 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 + road really was uphill beyond dispute. All his physiology began to cry out + at him. A last tremendous effort brought him to the corner and showed yet + another extent of shady roadway, empty save for a baker's van. His front + wheel suddenly shrieked aloud. “Oh Lord!” said Hoopdriver, relaxing. + </p> + <p> + Anyhow she was not in sight. He got off unsteadily, and for a moment his + legs felt like wisps of cotton. He balanced his machine against the grassy + edge of the path and sat down panting. His hands were gnarled with swollen + veins and shaking palpably, his breath came viscid. + </p> + <p> + “I'm hardly in training yet,” he remarked. His legs had gone leaden. “I + don't feel as though I'd had a mouthful of breakfast.” Presently he + slapped 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 his eye fell with a sudden approval on the ornamental chequering of + his new stockings. The expression in his eyes faded slowly to abstract + meditation. + </p> + <p> + “She WAS a stunning girl,” he said. “I wonder if I shall ever set eyes on + her again. And she knew how to ride, too! Wonder what she thought of me.” + </p> + <p> + The phrase 'bloomin' Dook' floated into his mind with a certain flavour of + comfort. + </p> + <p> + He lit a cigarette, and sat smoking and meditating. He did not even look + up when vehicles passed. It was perhaps ten minutes before he roused + himself. “What rot it is! What's the good of thinking such things,” he + said. “I'm only 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 and began wheeling his machine towards Esher. It was + going to be a beautiful day, and the hedges and trees and the open country + were all glorious to his town-tired eyes. But it was a little different + from the elation of his start. + </p> + <p> + “Look at the gentleman wizzer bicitle,” said a nursemaid on the path to a + personage in a perambulator. That healed him a little. “'Gentleman wizzer + bicitle,'—'bloomin' Dook'—I can't look so very seedy,” he said + to himself. + </p> + <p> + “I WONDER—I should just like to know—” + </p> + <p> + There was something very comforting in the track of HER pneumatic running + straight and steady along the road before him. It must be hers. No other + pneumatic had been along the road that morning. It was just possible, of + course, that he might see her once more—coming back. Should 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. His mind came round + and dwelt some time on her visible self. Rational dress didn't look a bit + unwomanly. However, he disdained to be one of your fortune-hunters. Then + his thoughts drove off at a tangent. He would certainly have to get + something to eat at the next public house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. ON THE ROAD TO RIPLEY + </h2> + <p> + In the fulness of time, Mr. Hoopdriver drew near the Marquis of Granby at + Esher, and as he came under the railway arch and saw the inn in front of + him, he mounted his machine again and rode bravely up to the doorway. + Burton and biscuit and cheese he had, which, indeed, is Burton in its + proper company; and as he was eating there came a middleaged man in a drab + cycling suit, very red and moist and angry in the face, and asked bitterly + for a lemon squash. And he sat down upon the seat in the bar and mopped + his face. But scarcely had he sat down before he got up again and stared + out of the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Damn!” said he. Then, “Damned Fool!” + </p> + <p> + “Eigh?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, looking round suddenly with a piece of cheese + in his cheek. + </p> + <p> + The man in drab faced him. “I called myself a Damned Fool, sir. Have you + any objections?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—None. None,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “I thought you spoke to me. I + didn't hear what you said.” + </p> + <p> + “To have a contemplative disposition and an energetic temperament, sir, is + hell. Hell, I tell you. A contemplative disposition and a phlegmatic + temperament, all very well. But energy and philosophy—!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver looked as intelligent as he could, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “There's no hurry, sir, none whatever. I came out for exercise, gentle + exercise, and to notice the scenery and to botanise. And no sooner do I + get on the accursed machine, than off I go hammer and tongs; I never look + to right or left, never notice a flower, never see a view, get hot, juicy, + red,—like a grilled chop. Here I am, sir. Come from Guildford in + something under the hour. WHY, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm a damned fool, sir. Because I've reservoirs and reservoirs of + muscular energy, and one or other of them is always leaking. It's a most + interesting road, birds and trees, I've no doubt, and wayside flowers, and + there's nothing I should enjoy more than watching them. But I can't. Get + me on that machine, and I have to go. Get me on anything, and I have to + go. And I don't want to go a bit. WHY should a man rush about like a + rocket, all pace and fizzle? Why? It makes me furious. I can assure you, + sir, I go scorching along the road, and cursing aloud at myself for doing + it. A quiet, dignified, philosophical man, that's what I am—at + bottom; and here I am dancing with rage and swearing like a drunken tinker + at a perfect stranger— + </p> + <p> + “But my day's wasted. I've lost all that country road, and now I'm on the + fringe of London. And I might have loitered all the morning! Ugh! Thank + Heaven, sir, you have not the irritable temperament, that you are not + goaded to madness by your endogenous sneers, by the eternal wrangling of + an uncomfortable soul and body. I tell you, I lead a cat and dog life—But + what IS the use of talking?—It's all of a piece!” + </p> + <p> + He tossed his head with unspeakable self-disgust, pitched the lemon squash + into his mouth, paid for it, and without any further remark strode to the + door. Mr. Hoopdriver was still wondering what to say when his interlocutor + vanished. There was a noise of a foot spurning the gravel, and when Mr. + Hoopdriver reached the doorway, the man in drab was a score of yards + Londonward. He had already gathered pace. He pedalled with ill-suppressed + anger, and his head was going down. In another moment he flew swiftly out + of sight under the railway arch, and Mr. Hoopdriver saw him no more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + After this whirlwind Mr. Hoopdriver paid his reckoning and—being now + a little rested about the muscles of the knees—resumed his saddle + and rode on in the direction of Ripley, along an excellent but undulating + road. He was pleased to find his command over his machine already sensibly + increased. He set himself little exercises as he went along and performed + them with variable success. There was, for instance, steering in between a + couple of stones, say a foot apart, a deed of little difficulty as far as + the front wheel is concerned. But the back wheel, not being under the sway + of the human eye, is apt to take a vicious jump over the obstacle, which + sends a violent concussion all along the spine to the skull, and will even + jerk a loosely fastened hat over the eyes, and so lead to much confusion. + And again, there was taking the hand or hands off the handlebar, a thing + simple in itself, but complex in its consequences. This particularly was a + feat Mr. Hoopdriver desired to do, for several divergent reasons; but at + present it simply led to convulsive balancings and novel and inelegant + modes of dismounting. + </p> + <p> + The human nose is, at its best, a needless excrescence. There are those + who consider it ornamental, and would regard a face deprived of its + assistance with pity or derision; but it is doubtful whether our esteem is + dictated so much by a sense of its absolute beauty as by the vitiating + effect of a universally prevalent fashion. In the case of bicycle + students, as in the young of both sexes, its inutility is aggravated by + its persistent annoyance—it requires constant attention. Until one + can ride with one hand, and search for, secure, and use a pocket + handkerchief with the other, cycling is necessarily a constant series of + descents. Nothing can be further from the author's ambition than a wanton + realism, but Mr. Hoopdriver's nose is a plain and salient fact, and face + it we must. And, in addition to this inconvenience, there are flies. Until + the cyclist can steer with one hand, his face is given over to Beelzebub. + Contemplative flies stroll over it, and trifle absently with its most + sensitive surfaces. The only way to dislodge them is to shake the head + forcibly and to writhe one's features violently. This is not only a + lengthy and frequently ineffectual method, but one exceedingly terrifying + to foot passengers. And again, sometimes the beginner rides for a space + with one eye closed by perspiration, giving him a waggish air foreign to + his mood and ill calculated to overawe the impertinent. However, you will + appreciate now the motive of Mr. Hoopdriver's experiments. He presently + attained sufficient dexterity to slap himself smartly and violently in the + face with his right hand, without certainly overturning the machine; but + his pocket handkerchief might have been in California for any good it was + to him while he was in the saddle. + </p> + <p> + Yet you must not think that because Mr. Hoopdriver was a little + uncomfortable, he was unhappy in the slightest degree. In the background + of his consciousness was the sense that about this time Briggs would be + half-way through his window dressing, and Gosling, the apprentice, busy, + with a chair turned down over the counter and his ears very red, trying to + roll a piece of huckaback—only those who have rolled pieces of + huckaback know quite how detestable huckaback is to roll—and the + shop would be dusty and, perhaps, the governor about and snappy. And here + was quiet and greenery, and one mucked about as the desire took one, + without a soul to see, and here was no wailing of “Sayn,” no folding of + remnants, no voice to shout, “Hoopdriver, forward!” And once he almost ran + over something wonderful, a little, low, red beast with a yellowish tail, + that went rushing across the road before him. It was the first weasel he + had ever seen in his cockney life. There were miles of this, scores of + miles of this before him, pinewood and oak forest, purple, heathery + moorland and grassy down, lush meadows, where shining rivers wound their + lazy way, villages with square-towered, flint churches, and rambling, + cheap, and hearty inns, clean, white, country towns, long downhill + stretches, where one might ride at one's ease (overlooking a jolt or so), + and far away, at the end of it all,—the sea. + </p> + <p> + What mattered a fly or so in the dawn of these delights? Perhaps he had + been dashed a minute by the shameful episode of the Young Lady in Grey, + and perhaps the memory of it was making itself a little lair in a corner + of his brain from which it could distress him in the retrospect by + suggesting that he looked like a fool; but for the present that trouble + was altogether in abeyance. The man in drab—evidently a swell—had + spoken to him as his equal, and the knees of his brown suit and the + chequered stockings were ever before his eyes. (Or, rather, you could see + the stockings by carrying the head a little to one side.) And to feel, + little by little, his mastery over this delightful, treacherous machine, + growing and growing! Every half-mile or so his knees reasserted + themselves, and he dismounted and sat awhile by the roadside. + </p> + <p> + It was at a charming little place between Esher and Cobham, where a bridge + crosses a stream, that Mr. Hoopdriver came across the other cyclist in + brown. It is well to notice the fact here, although the interview was of + the slightest, because it happened that subsequently Hoopdriver saw a + great deal more of this other man in brown. The other cyclist in brown had + a machine of dazzling newness, and a punctured pneumatic lay across his + knees. He was a man of thirty or more, with a whitish face, an aquiline + nose, a lank, flaxen moustache, and very fair hair, and he scowled at the + job before him. At the sight of him Mr. Hoopdriver pulled himself + together, and rode by with the air of one born to the wheel. “A splendid + morning,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, “and a fine surface.” + </p> + <p> + “The morning and you and the surface be everlastingly damned!” said the + other man in brown as Hoopdriver receded. Hoopdriver heard the mumble and + did not distinguish the words, and he felt a pleasing sense of having duly + asserted the wide sympathy that binds all cyclists together, of having + behaved himself as becomes one of the brotherhood of the wheel. The other + man in brown watched his receding aspect. “Greasy proletarian,” said the + other man in brown, feeling a prophetic dislike. “Got a suit of brown, the + very picture of this. One would think his sole aim in life had been to + caricature me. It's Fortune's way with me. Look at his insteps on the + treadles! Why does Heaven make such men?” + </p> + <p> + And having lit a cigarette, the other man in brown returned to the + business in hand. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver worked up the hill towards Cobham to a point that he felt + sure was out of sight of the other man in brown, and then he dismounted + and pushed his machine; until the proximity of the village and a proper + pride drove him into the saddle again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + Beyond Cobham came a delightful incident, delightful, that is, in its + beginning if a trifle indeterminate in the retrospect. It was perhaps + half-way between Cobham and Ripley. Mr. Hoopdriver dropped down a little + hill, where, unfenced from the road, fine mossy trees and bracken lay on + either side; and looking up he saw an open country before him, covered + with heather and set with pines, and a yellow road running across it, and + half a mile away perhaps, a little grey figure by the wayside waving + something white. “Never!” said Mr. Hoopdriver with his hands tightening on + the handles. + </p> + <p> + He resumed the treadles, staring away before him, jolted over a stone, + wabbled, recovered, and began riding faster at once, with his eyes ahead. + “It can't be,” said Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + He rode his straightest, and kept his pedals spinning, albeit a limp + numbness had resumed possession of his legs. “It CAN'T be,” he repeated, + feeling every moment more assured that it WAS. “Lord! I don't know even + now,” said Mr. Hoopdriver (legs awhirling), and then, “Blow my legs!” + </p> + <p> + But he kept on and drew nearer and nearer, breathing hard and gathering + flies like a flypaper. In the valley he was hidden. Then the road began to + rise, and the resistance of the pedals grew. As he crested the hill he saw + her, not a hundred yards away from him. “It's her!” he said. “It's her—right + enough. It's the suit's done it,”—which was truer even than Mr. + Hoopdriver thought. But now she was not waving her handkerchief, she was + not even looking at him. She was wheeling her machine slowly along the + road towards him, and admiring the pretty wooded hills towards Weybridge. + She might have been unaware of his existence for all the recognition he + got. + </p> + <p> + For a moment horrible doubts troubled Mr. Hoopdriver. Had that + handkerchief been a dream? Besides which he was deliquescent and scarlet, + and felt so. It must be her coquetry—the handkerchief was + indisputable. Should he ride up to her and get off, or get off and ride up + to her? It was as well she didn't look, because he would certainly capsize + if he lifted his cap. Perhaps that was her consideration. Even as he + hesitated he was upon her. She must have heard his breathing. He gripped + the brake. Steady! His right leg waved in the air, and he came down + heavily and staggering, but erect. She turned her eyes upon him with + admirable surprise. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver tried to smile pleasantly, hold up his machine, raise his + cap, and bow gracefully. Indeed, he felt that he did as much. He was a man + singularly devoid of the minutiae of self-consciousness, and he was quite + unaware of a tail of damp hair lying across his forehead, and just + clearing his eyes, and of the general disorder of his coiffure. There was + an interrogative pause. + </p> + <p> + “What can I have the pleasure—” began Mr. Haopdriver, insinuatingly. + “I mean” (remembering his emancipation and abruptly assuming his most + aristocratic intonation), “can I be of any assistance to you?” + </p> + <p> + The Young Lady in Grey bit her lower lip and said very prettily, “None, + thank you.” She glanced away from him and made as if she would proceed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, taken aback and suddenly crestfallen again. It + was so unexpected. He tried to grasp the situation. Was she coquetting? Or + had he—? + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, one minute,” he said, as she began to wheel her machine again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” she said, stopping and staring a little, with the colour in her + cheeks deepening. + </p> + <p> + “I should not have alighted if I had not—imagined that you—er, + waved something white—” He paused. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him doubtfully. He HAD seen it! She decided that he was not + an unredeemed rough taking advantage of a mistake, but an innocent soul + meaning well while seeking happiness. “I DID wave my handkerchief,” she + said. “I'm very sorry. I am expecting—a friend, a gentleman,”—she + seemed to flush pink for a minute. “He is riding a bicycle and dressed in—in + brown; and at a distance, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, quite!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, bearing up in manly fashion against his + bitter disappointment. “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm awfully sorry, you know. Troubling you to dismount, and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “No trouble. 'Ssure you,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, mechanically and bowing + over his saddle as if it was a counter. Somehow he could not find it in + his heart to tell her that the man was beyond there with a punctured + pneumatic. He looked back along the road and tried to think of something + else to say. But the gulf in the conversation widened rapidly and + hopelessly. “There's nothing further,” began Mr. Hoopdriver desperately, + recurring to his stock of cliches. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, thank you,” she said decisively. And immediately, “This IS the + Ripley road?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “Ripley is about two miles from here. + According to the mile-stones.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said warmly. “Thank you so much. I felt sure there was no + mistake. And I really am awfully sorry—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “Don't mention it.” He hesitated + and gripped his handles to mount. “It's me,” he said, “ought to be sorry.” + Should he say it? Was it an impertinence? Anyhow!—“Not being the + other gentleman, you know.” + </p> + <p> + He tried a quietly insinuating smile that he knew for a grin even as he + smiled it; felt she disapproved—that she despised him, was overcome + with shame at her expression, turned his back upon her, and began (very + clumsily) to mount. He did so with a horrible swerve, and went pedalling + off, riding very badly, as he was only too painfully aware. Nevertheless, + thank Heaven for the mounting! He could not see her because it was so + dangerous for him to look round, but he could imagine her indignant and + pitiless. He felt an unspeakable idiot. One had to be so careful what one + said to Young Ladies, and he'd gone and treated her just as though she was + only a Larky Girl. It was unforgivable. He always WAS a fool. You could + tell from her manner she didn't think him a gentleman. One glance, and she + seemed to look clear through him and all his presence. What rot it was + venturing to speak to a girl like that! With her education she was bound + to see through him at once. + </p> + <p> + How nicely she spoke too! nice clear-cut words! She made him feel what + slush his own accent was. And that last silly remark. What was it? 'Not + being the other gentleman, you know!' No point in it. And 'GENTLEMAN!' + What COULD she be thinking of him? + </p> + <p> + But really the Young Lady in Grey had dismissed Hoopdriver from her + thoughts almost before he had vanished round the corner. She had thought + no ill of him. His manifest awe and admiration of her had given her not an + atom of offence. But for her just now there were weightier things to think + about, things that would affect all the rest of her life. She continued + slowly walking her machine Londonward. Presently she stopped. “Oh! Why + DOESN'T he come?” she said, and stamped her foot petulantly. Then, as if + in answer, coming down the hill among the trees, appeared the other man in + brown, dismounted and wheeling his machine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER WAS HAUNTED + </h2> + <p> + As Mr. Hoopdriver rode swaggering along the Ripley road, it came to him, + with an unwarrantable sense of comfort, that he had seen the last of the + Young Lady in Grey. But the ill-concealed bladery of the machine, the + present machinery of Fate, the deus ex machina, so to speak, was against + him. The bicycle, torn from this attractive young woman, grew heavier and + heavier, and continually more unsteady. It seemed a choice between + stopping at Ripley or dying in the flower of his days. He went into the + Unicorn, after propping his machine outside the door, and, as he cooled + down and smoked his Red Herring cigarette while the cold meat was getting + ready, he saw from the window the Young Lady in Grey and the other man in + brown, entering Ripley. + </p> + <p> + They filled him with apprehension by looking at the house which sheltered + him, but the sight of his bicycle, propped in a drunk and incapable + attitude against the doorway, humping its rackety mud-guard and leering at + them with its darkened lantern eye, drove them away—so it seemed to + Mr. Hoopdriver—to the spacious swallow of the Golden Dragon. The + young lady was riding very slowly, but the other man in brown had a bad + puncture and was wheeling his machine. Mr. Hoopdriver noted his flaxen + moustache, his aquiline nose, his rather bent shoulders, with a sudden, + vivid dislike. + </p> + <p> + The maid at the Unicorn is naturally a pleasant girl, but she is jaded by + the incessant incidence of cyclists, and Hoopdriver's mind, even as he + conversed with her in that cultivated voice of his—of the weather, + of the distance from London, and of the excellence of the Ripley road—wandered + to the incomparable freshness and brilliance of the Young Lady in Grey. As + he sat at meat he kept turning his head to the window to see what signs + there were of that person, but the face of the Golden Dragon displayed no + appreciation of the delightful morsel it had swallowed. As an incidental + consequence of this distraction, Mr. Hoopdriver was for a minute greatly + inconvenienced by a mouthful of mustard. After he had called for his + reckoning he went, his courage being high with meat and mustard, to the + door, intending to stand, with his legs wide apart and his hands deep in + his pockets, and stare boldly across the road. But just then the other man + in brown appeared in the gateway of the Golden Dragon yard—it is one + of those delightful inns that date from the coaching days—wheeling + his punctured machine. He was taking it to Flambeau's, the repairer's. He + looked up and saw Hoopdriver, stared for a minute, and then scowled + darkly. + </p> + <p> + But Hoopdriver remained stoutly in the doorway until the other man in + brown had disappeared into Flambeau's. Then he glanced momentarily at the + Golden Dragon, puckered his mouth into a whistle of unconcern, and + proceeded to wheel his machine into the road until a sufficient margin for + mounting was secured. + </p> + <p> + Now, at that time, I say, Hoopdriver was rather desirous than not of + seeing no more of the Young Lady in Grey. The other man in brown he + guessed was her brother, albeit that person was of a pallid fairness, + differing essentially from her rich colouring; and, besides, he felt he + had made a hopeless fool of himself. But the afternoon was against him, + intolerably hot, especially on the top of his head, and the virtue had + gone out of his legs to digest his cold meat, and altogether his ride to + Guildford was exceedingly intermittent. At times he would walk, at times + lounge by the wayside, and every public house, in spite of Briggs and a + sentiment of economy, meant a lemonade and a dash of bitter. (For that is + the experience of all those who go on wheels, that drinking begets thirst, + even more than thirst begets drinking, until at last the man who yields + becomes a hell unto himself, a hell in which the fire dieth not, and the + thirst is not quenched.) Until a pennyworth of acrid green apples turned + the current that threatened to carry him away. Ever and again a cycle, or + a party of cyclists, would go by, with glittering wheels and softly + running chains, and on each occasion, to save his self-respect, Mr. + Hoopdriver descended and feigned some trouble with his saddle. Each time + he descended with less trepidation. + </p> + <p> + He did not reach Guildford until nearly four o'clock, and then he was so + much exhausted that he decided to put up there for the night, at the + Yellow Hammer Coffee Tavern. And after he had cooled a space and refreshed + himself with tea and bread and butter and jam,—the tea he drank + noisily out of the saucer,—he went out to loiter away the rest of + the afternoon. Guildford is an altogether charming old town, famous, so he + learnt from a Guide Book, as the scene of Master Tupper's great historical + novel of Stephen Langton, and it has a delightful castle, all set about + with geraniums and brass plates commemorating the gentlemen who put them + up, and its Guildhall is a Tudor building, very pleasant to see, and in + the afternoon the shops are busy and the people going to and fro make the + pavements look bright and prosperous. It was nice to peep in the windows + and see the heads of the men and girls in the drapers' shops, busy as + busy, serving away. The High Street runs down at an angle of seventy + degrees to the horizon (so it seemed to Mr. Hoopdriver, whose feeling for + gradients was unnaturally exalted), and it brought his heart into his + mouth to see a cyclist ride down it, like a fly crawling down a window + pane. The man hadn't even a brake. He visited the castle early in the + evening and paid his twopence to ascend the Keep. + </p> + <p> + At the top, from the cage, he looked down over the clustering red roofs of + the town and the tower of the church, and then going to the southern side + sat down and lit a Red Herring cigarette, and stared away south over the + old bramble-bearing, fern-beset ruin, at the waves of blue upland that + rose, one behind another, across the Weald, to the lazy altitudes of + Hindhead and Butser. His pale grey eyes were full of complacency and + pleasurable anticipation. Tomorrow he would go riding across that wide + valley. + </p> + <p> + He did not notice any one else had come up the Keep after him until he + heard a soft voice behind him saying: “Well, MISS BEAUMONT, here's the + view.” Something in the accent pointed to a jest in the name. + </p> + <p> + “It's a dear old town, brother George,” answered another voice that + sounded familiar enough, and turning his head, Mr. Hoopdriver saw the + other man in brown and the Young Lady in Grey, with their backs towards + him. She turned her smiling profile towards Hoopdriver. “Only, you know, + brothers don't call their sisters—” + </p> + <p> + She glanced over her shoulder and saw Hoopdriver. “Damn!” said the other + man in brown, quite audibly, starting as he followed her glance. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver, with a fine air of indifference, resumed the Weald. + “Beautiful old town, isn't it?” said the other man in brown, after a quite + perceptible pause. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it?” said the Young Lady in Grey. + </p> + <p> + Another pause began. + </p> + <p> + “Can't get alone anywhere,” said the other man in brown, looking round. + </p> + <p> + Then Mr. Hoopdriver perceived clearly that he was in the way, and decided + to retreat. It was just his luck of course that he should stumble at the + head of the steps and vanish with indignity. This was the third time that + he'd seen HIM, and the fourth time her. And of course he was too big a + fat-head to raise his cap to HER! He thought of that at the foot of the + Keep. Apparently they aimed at the South Coast just as he did, He'd get up + betimes the next day and hurry off to avoid her—them, that is. It + never occurred to Mr. Hoopdriver that Miss Beaumont and her brother might + do exactly the same thing, and that evening, at least, the peculiarity of + a brother calling his sister “Miss Beaumont” did not recur to him. He was + much too preoccupied with an analysis of his own share of these + encounters. He found it hard to be altogether satisfied about the figure + he had cut, revise his memories as he would. + </p> + <p> + Once more quite unintentionally he stumbled upon these two people. It was + about seven o'clock. He stopped outside a linen draper's and peered over + the goods in the window at the assistants in torment. He could have spent + a whole day happily at that. He told himself that he was trying to see how + they dressed out the brass lines over their counters, in a purely + professional spirit, but down at the very bottom of his heart he knew + better. The customers were a secondary consideration, and it was only + after the lapse of perhaps a minute that he perceived that among them was—the + Young Lady in Grey! He turned away from the window at once, and saw the + other man in brown standing at the edge of the pavement and regarding him + with a very curious expression of face. + </p> + <p> + There came into Mr. Hoopdriver's head the curious problem whether he was + to be regarded as a nuisance haunting these people, or whether they were + to be regarded as a nuisance haunting him. He abandoned the solution at + last in despair, quite unable to decide upon the course he should take at + the next encounter, whether he should scowl savagely at the couple or + assume an attitude eloquent of apology and propitiation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. THE IMAGININGS OF MR. HOOPDRIVER'S HEART + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver was (in the days of this story) a poet, though he had never + written a line of verse. Or perhaps romancer will describe him better. + Like I know not how many of those who do the fetching and carrying of + life,—a great number of them certainly,—his real life was + absolutely uninteresting, and if he had faced it as realistically as such + people do in Mr. Gissing's novels, he would probably have come by way of + drink to suicide in the course of a year. But that was just what he had + the natural wisdom not to do. On the contrary, he was always decorating + his existence with imaginative tags, hopes, and poses, deliberate and yet + quite effectual self-deceptions; his experiences were mere material for a + romantic superstructure. If some power had given Hoopdriver the 'giftie' + Burns invoked, 'to see oursels as ithers see us,' he would probably have + given it away to some one else at the very earliest opportunity. His + entire life, you must understand, was not a continuous romance, but a + series of short stories linked only by the general resemblance of their + hero, a brown-haired young fellow commonly, with blue eyes and a fair + moustache, graceful rather than strong, sharp and resolute rather than + clever (cp., as the scientific books say, p. 2). Invariably this person + possessed an iron will. The stories fluctuated indefinitely. The smoking + of a cigarette converted Hoopdriver's hero into something entirely + worldly, subtly rakish, with a humorous twinkle in the eye and some + gallant sinning in the background. You should have seen Mr. Hoopdriver + promenading the brilliant gardens at Earl's Court on an early-closing + night. His meaning glances! (I dare not give the meaning.) Such an + influence as the eloquence of a revivalist preacher would suffice to + divert the story into absolutely different channels, make him a + white-soured hero, a man still pure, walking untainted and brave and + helpful through miry ways. The appearance of some daintily gloved + frockcoated gentleman with buttonhole and eyeglass complete, gallantly + attendant in the rear of customers, served again to start visions of a + simplicity essentially Cromwell-like, of sturdy plainness, of a strong, + silent man going righteously through the world. This day there had + predominated a fine leisurely person immaculately clothed, and riding on + an unexceptional machine, a mysterious person—quite unostentatious, + but with accidental self-revelation of something over the common, even a + “bloomin' Dook,” it might be incognito, on the tour of the South Coast. + </p> + <p> + You must not think that there was any TELLING of these stories of this + life-long series by Mr. Hoopdriver. He never dreamt that they were known + to a soul. If it were not for the trouble, I would, I think, go back and + rewrite this section from the beginning, expunging the statements that + Hoopdriver was a poet and a romancer, and saying instead that he was a + playwright and acted his own plays. He was not only the sole performer, + but the entire audience, and the entertainment kept him almost + continuously happy. Yet even that playwright comparison scarcely expresses + all the facts of the case. After all, very many of his dreams never got + acted at all, possibly indeed, most of them, the dreams of a solitary walk + for instance, or of a tramcar ride, the dreams dreamt behind the counter + while trade was slack and mechanical foldings and rollings occupied his + muscles. Most of them were little dramatic situations, crucial dialogues, + the return of Mr. Hoopdriver to his native village, for instance, in a + well-cut holiday suit and natty gloves, the unheard asides of the rival + neighbours, the delight of the old 'mater,' the intelligence—“A + ten-pound rise all at once from Antrobus, mater. Whad d'yer think of + that?” or again, the first whispering of love, dainty and witty and + tender, to the girl he served a few days ago with sateen, or a gallant + rescue of generalised beauty in distress from truculent insult or ravening + dog. + </p> + <p> + So many people do this—and you never suspect it. You see a tattered + lad selling matches in the street, and you think there is nothing between + him and the bleakness of immensity, between him and utter abasement, but a + few tattered rags and a feeble musculature. And all unseen by you a host + of heaven-sent fatuities swathes him about, even, maybe, as they swathe + you about. Many men have never seen their own profiles or the backs of + their heads, and for the back of your own mind no mirror has been + invented. They swathe him about so thickly that the pricks of fate scarce + penetrate to him, or become but a pleasant titillation. And so, indeed, it + is with all of us who go on living. Self-deception is the anaesthetic of + life, while God is carving out our beings. + </p> + <p> + But to return from this general vivisection to Mr. Hoopdriver's + imaginings. You see now how external our view has been; we have had but + the slightest transitory glimpses of the drama within, of how the things + looked in the magic mirror of Mr. Hoopdriver's mind. On the road to + Guildford and during his encounters with his haunting fellow-cyclists the + drama had presented chiefly the quiet gentleman to whom we have alluded, + but at Guildford, under more varied stimuli, he burgeoned out more + variously. There was the house agent's window, for instance, set him upon + a charming little comedy. He would go in, make inquires about that + thirty-pound house, get the key possibly and go over it—the thing + would stimulate the clerk's curiosity immensely. He searched his mind for + a reason for this proceeding and discovered that he was a dynamiter + needing privacy. Upon that theory he procured the key, explored the house + carefully, said darkly that it might suit his special needs, but that + there were OTHERS to consult. The clerk, however, did not understand the + allusion, and merely pitied him as one who had married young and paired + himself to a stronger mind than his own. + </p> + <p> + This proceeding in some occult way led to the purchase of a note-book and + pencil, and that started the conception of an artist taking notes. That + was a little game Mr. Hoopdriver had, in congenial company, played in his + still younger days—to the infinite annoyance of quite a number of + respectable excursionists at Hastings. In early days Mr. Hoopdriver had + been, as his mother proudly boasted, a 'bit of a drawer,' but a + conscientious and normally stupid schoolmaster perceived the incipient + talent and had nipped it in the bud by a series of lessons in art. + However, our principal character figured about quite happily in old + corners of Guildford, and once the other man in brown, looking out of the + bay window of the Earl of Kent, saw him standing in a corner by a gateway, + note-book in hand, busily sketching the Earl's imposing features. At which + sight the other man in brown started back from the centre of the window, + so as to be hidden from him, and crouching slightly, watched him intently + through the interstices of the lace curtains. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. OMISSIONS + </h2> + <p> + Now the rest of the acts of Mr. Hoopdriver in Guildford, on the great + opening day of his holidays, are not to be detailed here. How he wandered + about the old town in the dusk, and up to the Hogsback to see the little + lamps below and the little stars above come out one after another; how he + returned through the yellow-lit streets to the Yellow Hammer Coffee Tavern + and supped bravely in the commercial room—a Man among Men; how he + joined in the talk about flying-machines and the possibilities of + electricity, witnessing that flying-machines were “dead certain to come,” + and that electricity was “wonderful, wonderful”; how he went and watched + the billiard playing and said, “Left 'em” several times with an oracular + air; how he fell a-yawning; and how he got out his cycling map and studied + it intently,—are things that find no mention here. Nor will I + enlarge upon his going into the writing-room, and marking the road from + London to Guildford with a fine, bright line of the reddest of red ink. In + his little cyclist hand-book there is a diary, and in the diary there is + an entry of these things—it is there to this day, and I cannot do + better than reproduce it here to witness that this book is indeed a true + one, and no lying fable written to while away an hour. + </p> + <p> + At last he fell a-yawning so much that very reluctantly indeed he set + about finishing this great and splendid day. (Alas! that all days must end + at last! ) He got his candle in the hall from a friendly waiting-maid, and + passed upward—whither a modest novelist, who writes for the family + circle, dare not follow. Yet I may tell you that he knelt down at his + bedside, happy and drowsy, and said, “Our Father 'chartin' heaven,” even + as he had learnt it by rote from his mother nearly twenty years ago. And + anon when his breathing had become deep and regular, we may creep into his + bedroom and catch him at his dreams. He is lying upon his left side, with + his arm under the pillow. It is dark, and he is hidden; but if you could + have seen his face, sleeping there in the darkness, I think you would have + perceived, in spite of that treasured, thin, and straggling moustache, in + spite of your memory of the coarse words he had used that day, that the + man before you was, after all, only a little child asleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. THE DREAMS OF MR. HOOPDRIVER + </h2> + <p> + In spite of the drawn blinds and the darkness, you have just seen Mr. + Hoopdriver's face peaceful in its beauty sleep in the little, plain + bedroom at the very top of the Yellow Hammer Coffee Tavern at Guildford. + That was before midnight. As the night progressed he was disturbed by + dreams. + </p> + <p> + After your first day of cycling one dream is inevitable. A memory of + motion lingers in the muscles of your legs, and round and round they seem + to go. You ride through Dreamland on wonderful dream bicycles that change + and grow; you ride down steeples and staircases and over precipices; you + hover in horrible suspense over inhabited towns, vainly seeking for a + brake your hand cannot find, to save you from a headlong fall; you plunge + into weltering rivers, and rush helplessly at monstrous obstacles. Anon + Mr. Hoopdriver found himself riding out of the darkness of non-existence, + pedalling Ezekiel's Wheels across the Weald of Surrey, jolting over the + hills and smashing villages in his course, while the other man in brown + cursed and swore at him and shouted to stop his career. There was the + Putney heath-keeper, too, and the man in drab raging at him. He felt an + awful fool, a—what was it?—a juggins, ah!—a Juggernaut. + The villages went off one after another with a soft, squashing noise. He + did not see the Young Lady in Grey, but he knew she was looking at his + back. He dared not look round. Where the devil was the brake? It must have + fallen off. And the bell? Right in front of him was Guildford. He tried to + shout and warn the town to get out of the way, but his voice was gone as + well. Nearer, nearer! it was fearful! and in another moment the houses + were cracking like nuts and the blood of the inhabitants squirting this + way and that. The streets were black with people running. Right under his + wheels he saw the Young Lady in Grey. A feeling of horror came upon Mr. + Hoopdriver; he flung himself sideways to descend, forgetting how high he + was, and forthwith he began falling; falling, falling. + </p> + <p> + He woke up, turned over, saw the new moon on the window, wondered a + little, and went to sleep again. + </p> + <p> + This second dream went back into the first somehow, and the other man in + brown came threatening and shouting towards him. He grew uglier and uglier + as he approached, and his expression was intolerably evil. He came and + looked close into Mr. Hoopdriver's eyes and then receded to an incredible + distance. His face seemed to be luminous. “MISS BEAUMONT,” he said, and + splashed up a spray of suspicion. Some one began letting off fireworks, + chiefly Catherine wheels, down the shop, though Mr. Hoopdriver knew it was + against the rules. For it seemed that the place they were in was a vast + shop, and then Mr. Hoopdriver perceived that the other man in brown was + the shop-walker, differing from most shop-walkers in the fact that he was + lit from within as a Chinese lantern might be. And the customer Mr. + Hoopdriver was going to serve was the Young Lady in Grey. Curious he + hadn't noticed it before. She was in grey as usual,—rationals,—and + she had her bicycle leaning against the counter. She smiled quite frankly + at him, just as she had done when she had apologised for stopping him. And + her form, as she leant towards him, was full of a sinuous grace he had + never noticed before. “What can I have the pleasure?” said Mr. Hoopdriver + at once, and she said, “The Ripley road.” So he got out the Ripley road + and unrolled it and showed it to her, and she said that would do very + nicely, and kept on looking at him and smiling, and he began measuring off + eight miles by means of the yard measure on the counter, eight miles being + a dress length, a rational dress length, that is; and then the other man + in brown came up and wanted to interfere, and said Mr. Hoopdriver was a + cad, besides measuring it off too slowly. And as Mr. Hoopdriver began to + measure faster, the other man in brown said the Young Lady in Grey had + been there long enough, and that he WAS her brother, or else she would not + be travelling with him, and he suddenly whipped his arm about her waist + and made off with her. It occurred to Mr. Hoopdriver even at the moment + that this was scarcely brotherly behaviour. Of course it wasn't! The sight + of the other man gripping her so familiarly enraged him frightfully; he + leapt over the counter forthwith and gave chase. They ran round the shop + and up an iron staircase into the Keep, and so out upon the Ripley road. + For some time they kept dodging in and out of a wayside hotel with two + front doors and an inn yard. The other man could not run very fast because + he had hold of the Young Lady in Grey, but Mr. Hoopdriver was hampered by + the absurd behaviour of his legs. They would not stretch out; they would + keep going round and round as if they were on the treadles of a wheel, so + that he made the smallest steps conceivable. This dream came to no crisis. + The chase seemed to last an interminable time, and all kinds of people, + heathkeepers, shopmen, policemen, the old man in the Keep, the angry man + in drab, the barmaid at the Unicorn, men with flying-machines, people + playing billiards in the doorways, silly, headless figures, stupid cocks + and hens encumbered with parcels and umbrellas and waterproofs, people + carrying bedroom candles, and such-like riffraff, kept getting in his way + and annoying him, although he sounded his electric bell, and said, + “Wonderful, wonderful!” at every corner.... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER WENT TO HASLEMERE + </h2> + <p> + There was some little delay in getting Mr. Hoopdriver's breakfast, so that + after all he was not free to start out of Guildford until just upon the + stroke of nine. He wheeled his machine from the High Street in some + perplexity. He did not know whether this young lady, who had seized hold + of his imagination so strongly, and her unfriendly and possibly menacing + brother, were ahead of him or even now breakfasting somewhere in + Guildford. In the former case he might loiter as he chose; in the latter + he must hurry, and possibly take refuge in branch roads. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to him as being in some obscure way strategic, that he would + leave Guildford not by the obvious Portsmouth road, but by the road + running through Shalford. Along this pleasant shady way he felt + sufficiently secure to resume his exercises in riding with one hand off + the handles, and in staring over his shoulder. He came over once or twice, + but fell on his foot each time, and perceived that he was improving. + Before he got to Bramley a specious byway snapped him up, ran with him for + half a mile or more, and dropped him as a terrier drops a walkingstick, + upon the Portsmouth again, a couple of miles from Godalming. He entered + Godalming on his feet, for the road through that delightful town is beyond + dispute the vilest in the world, a mere tumult of road metal, a way of + peaks and precipices, and, after a successful experiment with cider at the + Woolpack, he pushed on to Milford. + </p> + <p> + All this time he was acutely aware of the existence of the Young Lady in + Grey and her companion in brown, as a child in the dark is of Bogies. + Sometimes he could hear their pneumatics stealing upon him from behind, + and looking round saw a long stretch of vacant road. Once he saw far ahead + of him a glittering wheel, but it proved to be a workingman riding to + destruction on a very tall ordinary. And he felt a curious, vague + uneasiness about that Young Lady in Grey, for which he was altogether + unable to account. Now that he was awake he had forgotten that accentuated + Miss Beaumont that had been quite clear in his dream. But the curious + dream conviction, that the girl was not really the man's sister, would not + let itself be forgotten. Why, for instance, should a man want to be alone + with his sister on the top of a tower? At Milford his bicycle made, so to + speak, an ass of itself. A finger-post suddenly jumped out at him, vainly + indicating an abrupt turn to the right, and Mr. Hoopdriver would have + slowed up and read the inscription, but no!—the bicycle would not + let him. The road dropped a little into Milford, and the thing shied, put + down its head and bolted, and Mr. Hoopdriver only thought of the brake + when the fingerpost was passed. Then to have recovered the point of + intersection would have meant dismounting. For as yet there was no road + wide enough for Mr. Hoopdriver to turn in. So he went on his way—or + to be precise, he did exactly the opposite thing. The road to the right + was the Portsmouth road, and this he was on went to Haslemere and + Midhurst. By that error it came about that he once more came upon his + fellow travellers of yesterday, coming on them suddenly, without the + slightest preliminary announcement and when they least expected it, under + the Southwestern Railway arch. “It's horrible,” said a girlish voice; + “it's brutal—cowardly—” And stopped. + </p> + <p> + His expression, as he shot out from the archway at them, may have been + something between a grin of recognition and a scowl of annoyance at + himself for the unintentional intrusion. But disconcerted as he was, he + was yet able to appreciate something of the peculiarity of their mutual + attitudes. The bicycles were lying by the roadside, and the two riders + stood face to face. The other man in brown's attitude, as it flashed upon + Hoopdriver, was a deliberate pose; he twirled his moustache and smiled + faintly, and he was conscientiously looking amused. And the girl stood + rigid, her arms straight by her side, her handkerchief clenched in her + hand, and her face was flushed, with the faintest touch of red upon her + eyelids. She seemed to Mr. Hoopdriver's sense to be indignant. But that + was the impression of a second. A mask of surprised recognition fell + across this revelation of emotion as she turned her head towards him, and + the pose of the other man in brown vanished too in a momentary + astonishment. And then he had passed them, and was riding on towards + Haslemere to make what he could of the swift picture that had photographed + itself on his brain. + </p> + <p> + “Rum,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “It's DASHED rum!” + </p> + <p> + “They were having a row.” + </p> + <p> + “Smirking—” What he called the other man in brown need not trouble + us. + </p> + <p> + “Annoying her!” That any human being should do that! + </p> + <p> + “WHY?” + </p> + <p> + The impulse to interfere leapt suddenly into Mr. Hoopdriver's mind. He + grasped his brake, descended, and stood looking hesitatingly back. They + still stood by the railway bridge, and it seemed to Mr. Hoopdriver's fancy + that she was stamping her foot. He hesitated, then turned his bicycle + round, mounted, and rode back towards them, gripping his courage firmly + lest it should slip away and leave him ridiculous. “I'll offer 'im a screw + 'ammer,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. Then, with a wave of fierce emotion, he saw + that the girl was crying. In another moment they heard him and turned in + surprise. Certainly she had been crying; her eyes were swimming in tears, + and the other man in brown looked exceedingly disconcerted. Mr. Hoopdriver + descended and stood over his machine. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing wrong, I hope?” he said, looking the other man in brown squarely + in the face. “No accident?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said the other man in brown shortly. “Nothing at all, thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a great effort, “the young lady is + crying. I thought perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + The Young Lady in Grey started, gave Hoopdriver one swift glance, and + covered one eye with her handkerchief. “It's this speck,” she said. “This + speck of dust in my eye.” + </p> + <p> + “This lady,” said the other man in brown, explaining, “has a gnat in her + eye.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. The young lady busied herself with her eye. “I believe + it's out,” she said. The other man in brown made movements indicating + commiserating curiosity concerning the alleged fly. Mr. Hoopdriver—the + word is his own—stood flabber-gastered. He had all the intuition of + the simple-minded. He knew there was no fly. But the ground was suddenly + cut from his feet. There is a limit to knighterrantry—dragons and + false knights are all very well, but flies! Fictitious flies! Whatever the + trouble was, it was evidently not his affair. He felt he had made a fool + of himself again. He would have mumbled some sort of apology; but the + other man in brown gave him no time, turned on him abruptly, even + fiercely. “I hope,” he said, “that your curiosity is satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Then we won't detain you.” + </p> + <p> + And, ignominiously, Mr. Hoopdriver turned his machine about, struggled + upon it, and resumed the road southward. And when he learnt that he was + not on the Portsmouth road, it was impossible to turn and go back, for + that would be to face his shame again, and so he had to ride on by Brook + Street up the hill to Haslemere. And away to the right the Portsmouth road + mocked at him and made off to its fastnesses amid the sunlit green and + purple masses of Hindhead, where Mr. Grant Allen writes his Hill Top + Novels day by day. + </p> + <p> + The sun shone, and the wide blue hill views and pleasant valleys one saw + on either hand from the sandscarred roadway, even the sides of the road + itself set about with grey heather scrub and prickly masses of gorse, and + pine trees with their year's growth still bright green, against the + darkened needles of the previous years, were fresh and delightful to Mr. + Hoopdriver's eyes But the brightness of the day and the day-old sense of + freedom fought an uphill fight against his intolerable vexation at that + abominable encounter, and had still to win it when he reached Haslemere. A + great brown shadow, a monstrous hatred of the other man in brown, + possessed him. He had conceived the brilliant idea of abandoning + Portsmouth, or at least giving up the straight way to his + fellow-wayfarers, and of striking out boldly to the left, eastward. He did + not dare to stop at any of the inviting public-houses in the main street + of Haslemere, but turned up a side way and found a little beer-shop, the + Good Hope, wherein to refresh himself. And there he ate and gossipped + condescendingly with an aged labourer, assuming the while for his own + private enjoyment the attributes of a Lost Heir, and afterwards mounted + and rode on towards Northchapel, a place which a number of finger-posts + conspired to boom, but which some insidious turning prevented him from + attaining. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER REACHED MIDHURST + </h2> + <p> + It was one of my uncle's profoundest remarks that human beings are the + only unreasonable creatures. This observation was so far justified by Mr. + Hoopdriver that, after spending the morning tortuously avoiding the other + man in brown and the Young Lady in Grey, he spent a considerable part of + the afternoon in thinking about the Young Lady in Grey, and contemplating + in an optimistic spirit the possibilities of seeing her again. Memory and + imagination played round her, so that his course was largely determined by + the windings of the road he traversed. Of one general proposition he was + absolutely convinced. “There's something Juicy wrong with 'em,” said he—once + even aloud. But what it was he could not imagine. He recapitulated the + facts. “Miss Beaumont—brother and sister—and the stoppage to + quarrel and weep—” it was perplexing material for a young man of + small experience. There was no exertion he hated so much as inference, and + after a time he gave up any attempt to get at the realities of the case, + and let his imagination go free. Should he ever see her again? Suppose he + did—with that other chap not about. The vision he found pleasantest + was an encounter with her, an unexpected encounter at the annual Dancing + Class 'Do' at the Putney Assembly Rooms. Somehow they would drift + together, and he would dance with her again and again. It was a pleasant + vision, for you must understand that Mr. Hoopdriver danced uncommonly + well. Or again, in the shop, a sudden radiance in the doorway, and she is + bowed towards the Manchester counter. And then to lean over that counter + and murmur, seemingly apropos of the goods under discussion, “I have not + forgotten that morning on the Portsmouth road,” and lower, “I never shall + forget.” + </p> + <p> + At Northchapel Mr. Hoopdriver consulted his map and took counsel and + weighed his course of action. Petworth seemed a possible resting-place, or + Pullborough; Midhurst seemed too near, and any place over the Downs + beyond, too far, and so he meandered towards Petworth, posing himself + perpetually and loitering, gathering wild flowers and wondering why they + had no names—for he had never heard of any—dropping them + furtively at the sight of a stranger, and generally 'mucking about.' There + were purple vetches in the hedges, meadowsweet, honeysuckle, belated + brambles—but the dog-roses had already gone; there were green and + red blackberries, stellarias, and dandelions, and in another place white + dead nettles, traveller's-joy, clinging bedstraw, grasses flowering, white + campions, and ragged robins. One cornfield was glorious with poppies, + bright scarlet and purple white, and the blue corn-flowers were beginning. + In the lanes the trees met overhead, and the wisps of hay still hung to + the straggling hedges. Iri one of the main roads he steered a perilous + passage through a dozen surly dun oxen. Here and there were little + cottages, and picturesque beer-houses with the vivid brewers' boards of + blue and scarlet, and once a broad green and a church, and an expanse of + some hundred houses or so. Then he came to a pebbly rivulet that emerged + between clumps of sedge loosestrife and forget-me-nots under an arch of + trees, and rippled across the road, and there he dismounted, longing to + take off shoes and stockings—those stylish chequered stockings were + now all dimmed with dust—and paddle his lean legs in the chuckling + cheerful water. But instead he sat in a manly attitude, smoking a + cigarette, for fear lest the Young Lady in Grey should come glittering + round the corner. For the flavour of the Young Lady in Grey was present + through it all, mixing with the flowers and all the delight of it, a touch + that made this second day quite different from the first, an undertone of + expectation, anxiety, and something like regret that would not be ignored. + </p> + <p> + It was only late in the long evening that, quite abruptly, he began to + repent, vividly and decidedly, having fled these two people. He was + getting hungry, and that has a curious effect upon the emotional colouring + of our minds. The man was a sinister brute, Hoopdriver saw in a flash of + inspiration, and the girl—she was in some serious trouble. And he + who might have helped her had taken his first impulse as decisive—and + bolted. This new view of it depressed him dreadfully. What might not be + happening to her now? He thought again of her tears. Surely it was merely + his duty, seeing the trouble afoot, to keep his eye upon it. + </p> + <p> + He began riding fast to get quit of such selfreproaches. He found himself + in a tortuous tangle of roads, and as the dusk was coming on, emerged, not + at Petworth but at Easebourne, a mile from Midhurst. “I'm getting hungry,” + said Mr. Hoopdriver, inquiring of a gamekeeper in Easebourne village. + “Midhurst a mile, and Petworth five!—Thenks, I'll take Midhurst.” + </p> + <p> + He came into Midhurst by the bridge at the watermill, and up the North + Street, and a little shop flourishing cheerfully, the cheerful sign of a + teapot, and exhibiting a brilliant array of tobaccos, sweets, and + children's toys in the window, struck his fancy. A neat, bright-eyed + little old lady made him welcome, and he was presently supping sumptuously + on sausages and tea, with a visitors' book full of the most humorous and + flattering remarks about the little old lady, in verse and prose, propped + up against his teapot as he ate. Regular good some of the jokes were, and + rhymes that read well—even with your mouth full of sausage. Mr. + Hoopdriver formed a vague idea of drawing “something”—for his + judgment on the little old lady was already formed. He pictured the little + old lady discovering it afterwards—“My gracious! One of them Punch + men,” she would say. The room had a curtained recess and a chest of + drawers, for presently it was to be his bedroom, and the day part of it + was decorated with framed Oddfellows' certificates and giltbacked books + and portraits, and kettle-holders, and all kinds of beautiful things made + out of wool; very comfortable it was indeed. The window was lead framed + and diamond paned, and through it one saw the corner of the vicarage and a + pleasant hill crest, in dusky silhouette against the twilight sky. And + after the sausages had ceased to be, he lit a Red Herring cigarette and + went swaggering out into the twilight street. All shadowy blue between its + dark brick houses, was the street, with a bright yellow window here and + there and splashes of green and red where the chemist's illumination fell + across the road. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. AN INTERLUDE + </h2> + <p> + And now let us for a space leave Mr. Hoopdriver in the dusky Midhurst + North Street, and return to the two folks beside the railway bridge + between Milford and Haslemere. She was a girl of eighteen, dark, fine + featured, with bright eyes, and a rich, swift colour under her warm-tinted + skin. Her eyes were all the brighter for the tears that swam in them. The + man was thirty three or four, fair, with a longish nose overhanging his + sandy flaxen moustache, pale blue eyes, and a head that struck out above + and behind. He stood with his feet wide apart, his hand on his hip, in an + attitude that was equally suggestive of defiance and aggression. They had + watched Hoopdriver out of sight. The unexpected interruption had stopped + the flood of her tears. He tugged his abundant moustache and regarded her + calmly. She stood with face averted, obstinately resolved not to speak + first. “Your behaviour,” he said at last, “makes you conspicuous.” + </p> + <p> + She turned upon him, her eyes and cheeks glowing, her hands clenched. “You + unspeakable CAD,” she said, and choked, stamped her little foot, and stood + panting. + </p> + <p> + “Unspeakable cad! My dear girl! Possible I AM an unspeakable cad. Who + wouldn't be—for you?” + </p> + <p> + “'Dear girl!' How DARE you speak to me like that? YOU—” + </p> + <p> + “I would do anything—” + </p> + <p> + “OH!” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's pause. She looked squarely into his face, her eyes + alight with anger and contempt, and perhaps he flushed a little. He + stroked his moustache, and by an effort maintained his cynical calm. “Let + us be reasonable,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Reasonable! That means all that is mean and cowardly and sensual in the + world.” + </p> + <p> + “You have always had it so—in your generalising way. But let us look + at the facts of the case—if that pleases you better.” + </p> + <p> + With an impatient gesture she motioned him to go on. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said,—“you've eloped.” + </p> + <p> + “I've left my home,” she corrected, with dignity. “I left my home because + it was unendurable. Because that woman—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. But the point is, you have eloped with me.” + </p> + <p> + “You came with me. You pretended to be my friend. Promised to help me to + earn a living by writing. It was you who said, why shouldn't a man and + woman be friends? And now you dare—you dare—” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Jessie, this pose of yours, this injured innocence—” + </p> + <p> + “I will go back. I forbid you—I forbid you to stand in the way—” + </p> + <p> + “One moment. I have always thought that my little pupil was at least + clear-headed. You don't know everything yet, you know. Listen to me for a + moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I been listening? And you have only insulted me. You who dared + only to talk of friendship, who scarcely dared hint at anything beyond.” + </p> + <p> + “But you took the hints, nevertheless. You knew. You KNEW. And you did not + mind. MIND! You liked it. It was the fun of the whole thing for you. That + I loved you, and could not speak to you. You played with it—” + </p> + <p> + “You have said all that before. Do you think that justifies you?” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't all. I made up my mind—Well, to make the game more even. + And so I suggested to you and joined with you in this expedition of yours, + invented a sister at Midhurst—I tell you, I HAVEN'T a sister! For + one object—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “To compromise you.” + </p> + <p> + She started. That was a new way of putting it. For half a minute neither + spoke. Then she began half defiantly: “Much I am compromised. Of course—I + have made a fool of myself—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear girl, you are still on the sunny side of eighteen, and you know + very little of this world. Less than you think. But you will learn. Before + you write all those novels we have talked about, you will have to learn. + And that's one point—” He hesitated. “You started and blushed when + the man at breakfast called you Ma'am. You thought it a funny mistake, but + you did not say anything because he was young and nervous—and + besides, the thought of being my wife offended your modesty. You didn't + care to notice it. But—you see; I gave your name as MRS. Beaumont.” + He looked almost apologetic, in spite of his cynical pose. “MRS. + Beaumont,” he repeated, pulling his flaxen moustache and watching the + effect. + </p> + <p> + She looked into his eyes speechless. “I am learning fast,” she said + slowly, at last. + </p> + <p> + He thought the time had come for an emotional attack. “Jessie,” he said, + with a sudden change of voice, “I know all this is mean, isvillanous. But + do you think that I have done all this scheming, all this subterfuge, for + any other object—” + </p> + <p> + She did not seem to listen to his words. “I shall ride home,” she said + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “To her?” + </p> + <p> + She winced. + </p> + <p> + “Just think,” said he, “what she could say to you after this.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, I shall leave you now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? And go—” + </p> + <p> + “Go somewhere to earn my living, to be a free woman, to live without + conventionality—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear girl, do let us be cynical. You haven't money and you haven't + credit. No one would take you in. It's one of two things: go back to your + stepmother, or—trust to me.” + </p> + <p> + “How CAN I?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must go back to her.” He paused momentarily, to let this + consideration have its proper weight. “Jessie, I did not mean to say the + things I did. Upon my honour, I lost my head when I spoke so. If you will, + forgive me. I am a man. I could not help myself. Forgive me, and I promise + you—” + </p> + <p> + “How can I trust you?” + </p> + <p> + “Try me. I can assure you—” + </p> + <p> + She regarded him distrustfully. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, ride on with me now. Surely we have been in the shadow of + this horrible bridge long enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! let me think,” she said, half turning from him and pressing her hand + to her brow. + </p> + <p> + “THINK! Look here, Jessie. It is ten o'clock. Shall we call a truce until + one?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated, demanded a definition of the truce, and at last agreed. + </p> + <p> + They mounted, and rode on in silence, through the sunlight and the + heather. Both were extremely uncomfortable and disappointed. She was pale, + divided between fear and anger. She perceived she was in a scrape, and + tried in vain to think of a way of escape. Only one tangible thing would + keep in her mind, try as she would to ignore it. That was the quite + irrelevant fact that his head was singularly like an albino cocoanut. He, + too, felt thwarted. He felt that this romantic business of seduction was, + after all, unexpectedly tame. But this was only the beginning. At any + rate, every day she spent with him was a day gained. Perhaps things looked + worse than they were; that was some consolation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. OF THE ARTIFICIAL IN MAN, AND OF THE ZEITGEIST + </h2> + <p> + You have seen these two young people—Bechamel, by-the-bye, is the + man's name, and the girl's is Jessie Milton—from the outside; you + have heard them talking; they ride now side by side (but not too close + together, and in an uneasy silence) towards Haslemere; and this chapter + will concern itself with those curious little council chambers inside + their skulls, where their motives are in session and their acts are + considered and passed. + </p> + <p> + But first a word concerning wigs and false teeth. Some jester, enlarging + upon the increase of bald heads and purblind people, has deduced a + wonderful future for the children of men. Man, he said, was nowadays a + hairless creature by forty or fifty, and for hair we gave him a wig; + shrivelled, and we padded him; toothless, and lo! false teeth set in gold. + Did he lose a limb, and a fine, new, artificial one was at his disposal; + get indigestion, and to hand was artificial digestive fluid or bile or + pancreatine, as the case might be. Complexions, too, were replaceable, + spectacles superseded an inefficient eye-lens, and imperceptible false + diaphragms were thrust into the failing ear. So he went over our + anatomies, until, at last, he had conjured up a weird thing of shreds and + patches, a simulacrum, an artificial body of a man, with but a doubtful + germ of living flesh lurking somewhere in his recesses. To that, he held, + we were coming. + </p> + <p> + How far such odd substitution for the body is possible need not concern us + now. But the devil, speaking by the lips of Mr. Rudyard Kipling, hath it + that in the case of one Tomlinson, the thing, so far as the soul is + concerned, has already been accomplished. Time was when men had simple + souls, desires as natural as their eyes, a little reasonable philanthropy, + a little reasonable philoprogenitiveness, hunger, and a taste for good + living, a decent, personal vanity, a healthy, satisfying pugnacity, and so + forth. But now we are taught and disciplined for years and years, and + thereafter we read and read for all the time some strenuous, + nerve-destroying business permits. Pedagogic hypnotists, pulpit and + platform hypnotists, book-writing hypnotists, newspaper-writing + hypnotists, are at us all. This sugar you are eating, they tell us, is + ink, and forthwith we reject it with infinite disgust. This black draught + of unrequited toil is True Happiness, and down it goes with every symptom + of pleasure. This Ibsen, they say, is dull past believing, and we yawn and + stretch beyond endurance. Pardon! they interrupt, but this Ibsen is deep + and delightful, and we vie with one another in an excess of entertainment. + And when we open the heads of these two young people, we find, not a + straightforward motive on the surface anywhere; we find, indeed, not a + soul so much as an oversoul, a zeitgeist, a congestion of acquired ideas, + a highway's feast of fine, confused thinking. The girl is resolute to Live + Her Own Life, a phrase you may have heard before, and the man has a pretty + perverted ambition to be a cynical artistic person of the very calmest + description. He is hoping for the awakening of Passion in her, among other + things. He knows Passion ought to awaken, from the text-books he has + studied. He knows she admires his genius, but he is unaware that she does + not admire his head. He is quite a distinguished art critic in London, and + he met her at that celebrated lady novelist's, her stepmother, and here + you have them well embarked upon the Adventure. Both are in the first + stage of repentance, which consists, as you have probably found for + yourself, in setting your teeth hard and saying' “I WILL go on.” + </p> + <p> + Things, you see, have jarred a little, and they ride on their way together + with a certain aloofness of manner that promises ill for the orthodox + development of the Adventure. He perceives he was too precipitate. But he + feels his honour is involved, and meditates the development of a new + attack. And the girl? She is unawakened. Her motives are bookish, written + by a haphazard syndicate of authors, novelists, and biographers, on her + white inexperience. An artificial oversoul she is, that may presently + break down and reveal a human being beneath it. She is still in that + schoolgirl phase when a talkative old man is more interesting than a + tongue-tied young one, and when to be an eminent mathematician, say, or to + edit a daily paper, seems as fine an ambition as any girl need aspire to. + Bechaniel was to have helped her to attain that in the most expeditious + manner, and here he is beside her, talking enigmatical phrases about + passion, looking at her with the oddest expression, and once, and that was + his gravest offence, offering to kiss her. At any rate he has apologised. + She still scarcely realises, you see, the scrape she has got into. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. THE ENCOUNTER AT MIDHURST + </h2> + <p> + We left Mr. Hoopdriver at the door of the little tea, toy, and tobacco + shop. You must not think that a strain is put on coincidence when I tell + you that next door to Mrs. Wardor's—that was the name of the + bright-eyed, little old lady with whom Mr. Hoopdriver had stopped—is + the Angel Hotel, and in the Angel Hotel, on the night that Mr. Hoopdriver + reached Midhurst, were 'Mr.' and 'Miss' Beaumont, our Bechamel and Jessie + Milton. Indeed, it was a highly probable thing; for if one goes through + Guildford, the choice of southward roads is limited; you may go by + Petersfield to Portsmouth, or by Midhurst to Chichester, in addition to + which highways there is nothing for it but minor roadways to Petworth or + Pulborough, and cross-cuts Brightonward. And coming to Midhurst from the + north, the Angel's entrance lies yawning to engulf your highly respectable + cyclists, while Mrs. Wardor's genial teapot is equally attractive to those + who weigh their means in little scales. But to people unfamiliar with the + Sussex roads—and such were the three persons of this story—the + convergence did not appear to be so inevitable. + </p> + <p> + Bechamel, tightening his chain in the Angel yard after dinner, was the + first to be aware of their reunion. He saw Hoopdriver walk slowly across + the gateway, his head enhaloed in cigarette smoke, and pass out of sight + up the street. Incontinently a mass of cloudy uneasiness, that had been + partly dispelled during the day, reappeared and concentrated rapidly into + definite suspicion. He put his screw hammer into his pocket and walked + through the archway into the street, to settle the business forthwith, for + he prided himself on his decision. Hoopdriver was merely promenading, and + they met face to face. + </p> + <p> + At the sight of his adversary, something between disgust and laughter + seized Mr. Hoopdriver and for a moment destroyed his animosity. “'Ere we + are again!” he said, laughing insincerely in a sudden outbreak at the + perversity of chance. + </p> + <p> + The other man in brown stopped short in Mr. Hoopdriver's way, staring. + Then his face assumed an expression of dangerous civility. “Is it any + information to you,” he said, with immense politeness, “when I remark that + you are following us?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver, for some occult reason, resisted his characteristic + impulse to apologise. He wanted to annoy the other man in brown, and a + sentence that had come into his head in a previous rehearsal cropped up + appropriately. “Since when,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, catching his breath, yet + bringing the question out valiantly, nevertheless,—“since when 'ave + you purchased the county of Sussex?” + </p> + <p> + “May I point out,” said the other man in brown, “that I object—we + object not only to your proximity to us. To be frank—you appear to + be following us—with an object.” + </p> + <p> + “You can always,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, “turn round if you don't like it, + and go back the way you came.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh-o!” said the other man in brown. “THAT'S it! I thought as much.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, quite at sea, but rising pluckily to the + unknown occasion. What was the man driving at? + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the other man. “I see. I half suspected—” His manner + changed abruptly to a quality suspiciously friendly. “Yes—a word + with you. You will, I hope, give me ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Wonderful things were dawning on Mr. Hoopdriver. What did the other man + take him for? Here at last was reality! He hesitated. Then he thought of + an admirable phrase. “You 'ave some communication—” + </p> + <p> + “We'll call it a communication,” said the other man. + </p> + <p> + “I can spare you the ten minutes,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “This way, then,” said the other man in brown, and they walked slowly down + the North Street towards the Grammar School. There was, perhaps, thirty + seconds' silence. The other man stroked his moustache nervously. Mr. + Hoopdriver's dramatic instincts were now fully awake. He did not quite + understand in what role he was cast, but it was evidently something dark + and mysterious. Doctor Conan Doyle, Victor Hugo, and Alexander Dumas were + well within Mr. Hoopdriver's range of reading, and he had not read them + for nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I will be perfectly frank with you,” said the other man in brown. + </p> + <p> + “Frankness is always the best course,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—who the devil set you on this business?” + </p> + <p> + “Set me ON this business?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't pretend to be stupid. Who's your employer? Who engaged you for this + job?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, confused. “No—I can't say.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure?” The other man in brown glanced meaningly down at his hand, + and Mr. Hoopdriver, following him mechanically, saw a yellow milled edge + glittering in the twilight. Now your shop assistant is just above the + tip-receiving class, and only just above it—so that he is acutely + sensitive on the point. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver flushed hotly, and his eyes were angry as he met those of + the other man in brown. “Stow it!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, stopping and + facing the tempter. + </p> + <p> + “What!” said the other man in brown, surprised. “Eigh?” And so saying he + stowed it in his breeches pocket. + </p> + <p> + “D'yer think I'm to be bribed?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, whose imagination was + rapidly expanding the situation. “By Gosh! I'd follow you now—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” said the other man in brown, “I beg your pardon. I + misunderstood you. I really beg your pardon. Let us walk on. In your + profession—” + </p> + <p> + “What have you got to say against my profession?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, really, you know. There are detectives of an inferior description—watchers. + The whole class. Private Inquiry—I did not realise—I really + trust you will overlook what was, after all—you must admit—a + natural indiscretion. Men of honour are not so common in the world—in + any profession.” + </p> + <p> + It was lucky for Mr. Hoopdriver that in Midhurst they do not light the + lamps in the summer time, or the one they were passing had betrayed him. + As it was, he had to snatch suddenly at his moustache and tug fiercely at + it, to conceal the furious tumult of exultation, the passion of laughter, + that came boiling up. Detective! Even in the shadow Bechamel saw that a + laugh was stifled, but he put it down to the fact that the phrase “men of + honour” amused his interlocutor. “He'll come round yet,” said Bechamel to + himself. “He's simply holding out for a fiver.” He coughed. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see that it hurts you to tell me who your employer is.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you? I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Prompt,” said Bechamel, appreciatively. “Now here's the thing I want to + put to you—the kernel of the whole business. You need not answer if + you don't want to. There's no harm done in my telling you what I want to + know. Are you employed to watch me—or Miss Milton?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not the leaky sort,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, keeping the secret he did + not know with immense enjoyment. Miss Milton! That was her name. Perhaps + he'd tell some more. “It's no good pumping. Is that all you're after?” + said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + Bechamel respected himself for his diplomatic gifts. He tried to catch a + remark by throwing out a confidence. “I take it there are two people + concerned in watching this affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's the other?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, calmly, but controlling with + enormous internal tension his self-appreciation. “Who's the other?” was + really brilliant, he thought. + </p> + <p> + “There's my wife and HER stepmother.” + </p> + <p> + “And you want to know which it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bechamel. + </p> + <p> + “Well—arst 'em!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, his exultation getting the + better of him, and with a pretty consciousness of repartee. “Arst 'em + both.” + </p> + <p> + Bechamel turned impatiently. Then he made a last effort. “I'd give a + five-pound note to know just the precise state of affairs,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I told you to stow that,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, in a threatening tone. And + added with perfect truth and a magnificent mystery, “You don't quite + understand who you're dealing with. But you will!” He spoke with such + conviction that he half believed that that defective office of his in + London—Baker Street, in fact—really existed. + </p> + <p> + With that the interview terminated. Bechamel went back to the Angel, + perturbed. “Hang detectives!” It wasn't the kind of thing he had + anticipated at all. Hoopdriver, with round eyes and a wondering smile, + walked down to where the mill waters glittered in the moonlight, and after + meditating over the parapet of the bridge for a space, with occasional + murmurs of, “Private Inquiry” and the like, returned, with mystery even in + his paces, towards the town. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + That glee which finds expression in raised eyebrows and long, low + whistling noises was upon Mr. Hoopdriver. For a space he forgot the tears + of the Young Lady in Grey. Here was a new game!—and a real one. Mr. + Hoopdriver as a Private Inquiry Agent, a Sherlock Holmes in fact, keeping + these two people 'under observation.' He walked slowly back from the + bridge until he was opposite the Angel, and stood for ten minutes, + perhaps, contemplating that establishment and enjoying all the strange + sensations of being this wonderful, this mysterious and terrible thing. + Everything fell into place in his scheme. He had, of course, by a kind of + instinct, assumed the disguise of a cyclist, picked up the first old crock + he came across as a means of pursuit. 'No expense was to be spared.' + </p> + <p> + Then he tried to understand what it was in particular that he was + observing. “My wife”—“HER stepmother!” Then he remembered her + swimming eyes. Abruptly came a wave of anger that surprised him, washed + away the detective superstructure, and left him plain Mr. Hoopdriver. This + man in brown, with his confident manner, and his proffered half sovereign + (damn him!) was up to no good, else why should he object to being watched? + He was married! She was not his sister. He began to understand. A horrible + suspicion of the state of affairs came into Mr. Hoopdriver's head. Surely + it had not come to THAT. He was a detective!—he would find out. How + was it to be done? He began to submit sketches on approval to himself. It + required an effort before he could walk into the Angel bar. “A lemonade + and bitter, please,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + He cleared his throat. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Bowlong stopping here?” + </p> + <p> + “What, a gentleman and a young lady—on bicycles?” + </p> + <p> + “Fairly young—a married couple.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the barmaid, a talkative person of ample dimensions. “There's + no married couples stopping here. But there's a Mr. and Miss BEAUMONT.” + She spelt it for precision. “Sure you've got the name right, young man?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Beaumont there is, but no one of the name of—What was the name you + gave?” + </p> + <p> + “Bowlong,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “No, there ain't no Bowlong,” said the barmaid, taking up a glasscloth and + a drying tumbler and beginning to polish the latter. “First off, I thought + you might be asking for Beaumont—the names being similar. Were you + expecting them on bicycles?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—they said they MIGHT be in Midhurst tonight.” + </p> + <p> + “P'raps they'll come presently. Beaumont's here, but no Bowlong. Sure that + Beaumont ain't the name?” + </p> + <p> + “Certain,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “It's curious the names being so alike. I thought p'raps—” + </p> + <p> + And so they conversed at some length, Mr. Hoopdriver delighted to find his + horrible suspicion disposed of. The barmaid having listened awhile at the + staircase volunteered some particulars of the young couple upstairs. Her + modesty was much impressed by the young lady's costume, so she intimated, + and Mr. Hoopdriver whispered the badinage natural to the occasion, at + which she was coquettishly shocked. “There'll be no knowing which is + which, in a year or two,” said the barmaid. “And her manner too! She got + off her machine and give it 'im to stick up against the kerb, and in she + marched. 'I and my brother,' says she, 'want to stop here to-night. My + brother doesn't mind what kind of room 'e 'as, but I want a room with a + good view, if there's one to be got,' says she. He comes hurrying in after + and looks at her. 'I've settled the rooms,' she says, and 'e says 'damn!' + just like that. I can fancy my brother letting me boss the show like + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I dessay you do,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, “if the truth was known.” + </p> + <p> + The barmaid looked down, smiled and shook her head, put down the tumbler, + polished, and took up another that had been draining, and shook the drops + of water into her little zinc sink. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be a nice little lot to marry,” said the barmaid. “She'll be + wearing the—well, b-dashes, as the sayin' is. I can't think what + girls is comin' to.” + </p> + <p> + This depreciation of the Young Lady in Grey was hardly to Hoopdriver's + taste. + </p> + <p> + “Fashion,” said he, taking up his change. “Fashion is all the go with you + ladies—and always was. You'll be wearing 'em yourself before a + couple of years is out.” + </p> + <p> + “Nice they'd look on my figger,” said the barmaid, with a titter. “No—I + ain't one of your fashionable sort. Gracious no! I shouldn't feel as if + I'd anything on me, not more than if I'd forgot—Well, there! I'm + talking.” She put down the glass abruptly. “I dessay I'm old fashioned,” + she said, and walked humming down the bar. + </p> + <p> + “Not you,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. He waited until he caught her eye, then + with his native courtesy smiled, raised his cap, and wished her good + evening. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + Then Mr. Hoopdriver returned to the little room with the lead-framed + windows where he had dined, and where the bed was now comfortably made, + sat down on the box under the window, stared at the moon rising on the + shining vicarage roof, and tried to collect his thoughts. How they whirled + at first! It was past ten, and most of Midhurst was tucked away in bed, + some one up the street was learning the violin, at rare intervals a + belated inhabitant hurried home and woke the echoes, and a corncrake kept + up a busy churning in the vicarage garden. The sky was deep blue, with a + still luminous afterglow along the black edge of the hill, and the white + moon overhead, save for a couple of yellow stars, had the sky to herself. + </p> + <p> + At first his thoughts were kinetic, of deeds and not relationships. There + was this malefactor, and his victim, and it had fallen on Mr. Hoopdriver + to take a hand in the game. HE was married. Did she know he was married? + Never for a moment did a thought of evil concerning her cross Hoopdriver's + mind. Simple-minded people see questions of morals so much better than + superior persons—who have read and thought themselves complex to + impotence. He had heard her voice, seen the frank light in her eyes, and + she had been weeping—that sufficed. The rights of the case he hadn't + properly grasped. But he would. And that smirking—well, swine was + the mildest for him. He recalled the exceedingly unpleasant incident of + the railway bridge. “Thin we won't detain yer, thenks,” said Mr. + Hoopdriver, aloud, in a strange, unnatural, contemptible voice, supposed + to represent that of Bechamel. “Oh, the BEGGAR! I'll be level with him + yet. He's afraid of us detectives—that I'll SWEAR.” (If Mrs. Wardor + should chance to be on the other side of the door within earshot, well and + good.) + </p> + <p> + For a space he meditated chastisements and revenges, physical + impossibilities for the most part,—Bechamel staggering headlong from + the impact of Mr. Hoopdriver's large, but, to tell the truth, ill + supported fist, Bechamel's five feet nine of height lifted from the ground + and quivering under a vigorously applied horsewhip. So pleasant was such + dreaming, that Mr. Hoopdriver's peaked face under the moonlight was + transfigured. One might have paired him with that well-known and + universally admired triumph, 'The Soul's Awakening,' so sweet was his + ecstasy. And presently with his thirst for revenge glutted by six or seven + violent assaults, a duel and two vigorous murders, his mind came round to + the Young Lady in Grey again. + </p> + <p> + She was a plucky one too. He went over the incident the barmaid at the + Angel had described to him. His thoughts ceased to be a torrent, smoothed + down to a mirror in which she was reflected with infinite clearness and + detail. He'd never met anything like her before. Fancy that bolster of a + barmaid being dressed in that way! He whuffed a contemptuous laugh. He + compared her colour, her vigour, her voice, with the Young Ladies in + Business with whom his lot had been cast. Even in tears she was beautiful, + more beautiful indeed to him, for it made her seem softer and weaker, more + accessible. And such weeping as he had seen before had been so much a + matter of damp white faces, red noses, and hair coming out of curl. Your + draper's assistant becomes something of a judge of weeping, because + weeping is the custom of all Young Ladies in Business, when for any reason + their services are dispensed with. She could weep—and (by Gosh!) she + could smile. HE knew that, and reverting to acting abruptly, he smiled + confidentially at the puckered pallor of the moon. + </p> + <p> + It is difficult to say how long Mr. Hoopdriver's pensiveness lasted. It + seemed a long time before his thoughts of action returned. Then he + remembered he was a 'watcher'; that to-morrow he must be busy. It would be + in character to make notes, and he pulled out his little note-book. With + that in hand he fell a-thinking again. Would that chap tell her the 'tecks + were after them? If so, would she be as anxious to get away as HE was? He + must be on the alert. If possible he must speak to her. Just a significant + word, “Your friend—trust me!”—It occurred to him that + to-morrow these fugitives might rise early to escape. At that he thought + of the time and found it was half-past eleven. “Lord!” said he, “I must + see that I wake.” He yawned and rose. The blind was up, and he pulled back + the little chintz curtains to let the sunlight strike across to the bed, + hung his watch within good view of his pillow, on a nail that supported a + kettle-holder, and sat down on his bed to undress. He lay awake for a + little while thinking of the wonderful possibilities of the morrow, and + thence he passed gloriously into the wonderland of dreams. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. THE PURSUIT + </h2> + <p> + And now to tell of Mr. Hoopdriver, rising with the sun, vigilant, active, + wonderful, the practicable half of the lead-framed window stuck open, ears + alert, an eye flickering incessantly in the corner panes, in oblique + glances at the Angel front. Mrs. Wardor wanted him to have his breakfast + downstairs in her kitchen, but that would have meant abandoning the watch, + and he held out strongly. The bicycle, cap-a-pie, occupied, under protest, + a strategic position in the shop. He was expectant by six in the morning. + By nine horrible fears oppressed him that his quest had escaped him, and + he had to reconnoitre the Angel yard in order to satisfy himself. There he + found the ostler (How are the mighty fallen in these decadent days!) + brushing down the bicycles of the chase, and he returned relieved to Mrs. + Wardor's premises. And about ten they emerged, and rode quietly up the + North Street. He watched them until they turned the corner of the post + office, and then out into the road and up after them in fine style! They + went by the engine-house where the old stocks and the whipping posts are, + and on to the Chichester road, and he followed gallantly. So this great + chase began. + </p> + <p> + They did not look round, and he kept them just within sight, getting down + if he chanced to draw closely upon them round a corner. By riding + vigorously he kept quite conveniently near them, for they made but little + hurry. He grew hot indeed, and his knees were a little stiff to begin + with, but that was all. There was little danger of losing them, for a thin + chalky dust lay upon the road, and the track of her tire was milled like a + shilling, and his was a chequered ribbon along the way. So they rode by + Cobden's monument and through the prettiest of villages, until at last the + downs rose steeply ahead. There they stopped awhile at the only inn in the + place, and Mr. Hoopdriver took up a position which commanded the inn door, + and mopped his face and thirsted and smoked a Red Herring cigarette. They + remained in the inn for some time. A number of chubby innocents returning + home from school, stopped and formed a line in front of him, and watched + him quietly but firmly for the space of ten minutes or so. “Go away,” said + he, and they only seemed quietly interested. He asked them all their names + then, and they answered indistinct murmurs. He gave it up at last and + became passive on his gate, and so at length they tired of him. + </p> + <p> + The couple under observation occupied the inn so long that Mr. Hoopdriver + at the thought of their possible employment hungered as well as thirsted. + Clearly, they were lunching. It was a cloudless day, and the sun at the + meridian beat down upon the top of Mr. Hoopdriver's head, a shower bath of + sunshine, a huge jet of hot light. It made his head swim. At last they + emerged, and the other man in brown looked back and saw him. They rode on + to the foot of the down, and dismounting began to push tediously up that + long nearly vertical ascent of blinding white road, Mr. Hoopdriver + hesitated. It might take them twenty minutes to mount that. Beyond was + empty downland perhaps for miles. He decided to return to the inn and + snatch a hasty meal. + </p> + <p> + At the inn they gave him biscuits and cheese and a misleading pewter + measure of sturdy ale, pleasant under the palate, cool in the throat, but + leaden in the legs, of a hot afternoon. He felt a man of substance as he + emerged in the blinding sunshine, but even by the foot of the down the sun + was insisting again that his skull was too small for his brains. The hill + had gone steeper, the chalky road blazed like a magnesium light, and his + front wheel began an apparently incurable squeaking. He felt as a man from + Mars would feel if he were suddenly transferred to this planet, about + three times as heavy as he was wont to feel. The two little black figures + had vanished over the forehead of the hill. “The tracks'll be all right,” + said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + That was a comforting reflection. It not only justified a slow progress up + the hill, but at the crest a sprawl on the turf beside the road, to + contemplate the Weald from the south. In a matter of two days he had + crossed that spacious valley, with its frozen surge of green hills, its + little villages and townships here and there, its copses and cornfields, + its ponds and streams like jewelery of diamonds and silver glittering in + the sun. The North Downs were hidden, far away beyond the Wealden Heights. + Down below was the little village of Cocking, and half-way up the hill, a + mile perhaps to the right, hung a flock of sheep grazing together. + Overhead an anxious peewit circled against the blue, and every now and + then emitted its feeble cry. Up here the heat was tempered by a pleasant + breeze. Mr. Hoopdriver was possessed by unreasonable contentment; he lit + himself a cigarette and lounged more comfortably. Surely the Sussex ale is + made of the waters of Lethe, of poppies and pleasant dreams. Drowsiness + coiled insidiously about him. + </p> + <p> + He awoke with a guilty start, to find himself sprawling prone on the turf + with his cap over one eye. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and realised that + he had slept. His head was still a trifle heavy. And the chase? He jumped + to his feet and stooped to pick up his overturned machine. He whipped out + his watch and saw that it was past two o'clock. “Lord love us, fancy that!—But + the tracks'll be all right,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, wheeling his machine + back to the chalky road. “I must scorch till I overtake them.” + </p> + <p> + He mounted and rode as rapidly as the heat and a lingering lassitude + permitted. Now and then he had to dismount to examine the surface where + the road forked. He enjoyed that rather. “Trackin',” he said aloud, and + decided in the privacy of his own mind that he had a wonderful instinct + for 'spoor.' So he came past Goodwood station and Lavant, and approached + Chichester towards four o'clock. And then came a terrible thing. In places + the road became hard, in places were the crowded indentations of a recent + flock of sheep, and at last in the throat of the town cobbles and the + stony streets branching east, west, north, and south, at a stone cross + under the shadow of the cathedral the tracks vanished. “O Cricky!” said + Mr. Hoopdriver, dismounting in dismay and standing agape. “Dropped + anything?” said an inhabitant at the kerb. “Yes,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, + “I've lost the spoor,” and walked upon his way, leaving the inhabitant + marvelling what part of a bicycle a spoor might be. Mr. Hoopdriver, + abandoning tracking, began asking people if they had seen a Young Lady in + Grey on a bicycle. Six casual people hadn't, and he began to feel the + inquiry was conspicuous, and desisted. But what was to be done? + </p> + <p> + Hoopdriver was hot, tired, and hungry, and full of the first gnawings of a + monstrous remorse. He decided to get himself some tea and meat, and in the + Royal George he meditated over the business in a melancholy frame enough. + They had passed out of his world—vanished, and all his wonderful + dreams of some vague, crucial interference collapsed like a castle of + cards. What a fool he had been not to stick to them like a leech! He might + have thought! But there!—what WAS the good of that sort of thing + now? He thought of her tears, of her helplessness, of the bearing of the + other man in brown, and his wrath and disappointment surged higher. “What + CAN I do?” said Mr. Hoopdriver aloud, bringing his fist down beside the + teapot. + </p> + <p> + What would Sherlock Holmes have done? Perhaps, after all, there might be + such things as clues in the world, albeit the age of miracles was past. + But to look for a clue in this intricate network of cobbled streets, to + examine every muddy interstice! There was a chance by looking about and + inquiry at the various inns. Upon that he began. But of course they might + have ridden straight through and scarcely a soul have marked them. And + then came a positively brilliant idea. “'Ow many ways are there out of + Chichester?” said Mr. Hoopdriver. It was really equal to Sherlock Holmes—that. + “If they've made tracks, I shall find those tracks. If not—they're + in the town.” He was then in East Street, and he started at once to make + the circuit of the place, discovering incidentally that Chichester is a + walled city. In passing, he made inquiries at the Black Swan, the Crown, + and the Red Lion Hotel. At six o'clock in the evening, he was walking + downcast, intent, as one who had dropped money, along the road towards + Bognor, kicking up the dust with his shoes and fretting with disappointed + pugnacity. A thwarted, crestfallen Hoopdriver it was, as you may well + imagine. And then suddenly there jumped upon his attention—a broad + line ribbed like a shilling, and close beside it one chequered, that ever + and again split into two. “Found!” said Mr. Hoopdriver and swung round on + his heel at once, and back to the Royal George, helter skelter, for the + bicycle they were minding for him. The ostler thought he was confoundedly + imperious, considering his machine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. AT BOGNOR + </h2> + <p> + That seductive gentleman, Bechamel, had been working up to a crisis. He + had started upon this elopement in a vein of fine romance, immensely proud + of his wickedness, and really as much in love as an artificial oversoul + can be, with Jessie. But either she was the profoundest of coquettes or + she had not the slightest element of Passion (with a large P) in her + composition. It warred with all his ideas of himself and the feminine mind + to think that under their flattering circumstances she really could be so + vitally deficient. He found her persistent coolness, her more or less + evident contempt for himself, exasperating in the highest degree. He put + it to himself that she was enough to provoke a saint, and tried to think + that was piquant and enjoyable, but the blisters on his vanity asserted + themselves. The fact is, he was, under this standing irritation, getting + down to the natural man in himself for once, and the natural man in + himself, in spite of Oxford and the junior Reviewers' Club, was a + Palaeolithic creature of simple tastes and violent methods. “I'll be level + with you yet,” ran like a plough through the soil of his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Then there was this infernal detective. Bechamel had told his wife he was + going to Davos to see Carter. To that he had fancied she was reconciled, + but how she would take this exploit was entirely problematical. She was a + woman of peculiar moral views, and she measured marital infidelity largely + by its proximity to herself. Out of her sight, and more particularly out + of the sight of the other women of her set, vice of the recognised + description was, perhaps, permissible to those contemptible weaklings, + men, but this was Evil on the High Roads. She was bound to make a fuss, + and these fusses invariably took the final form of a tightness of money + for Bechamel. Albeit, and he felt it was heroic of him to resolve so, it + was worth doing if it was to be done. His imagination worked on a kind of + matronly Valkyrie, and the noise of pursuit and vengeance was in the air. + The idyll still had the front of the stage. That accursed detective, it + seemed, had been thrown off the scent, and that, at any rate, gave a + night's respite. But things must be brought to an issue forthwith. + </p> + <p> + By eight o'clock in the evening, in a little dining-room in the Vicuna + Hotel, Bognor, the crisis had come, and Jessie, flushed and angry in the + face and with her heart sinking, faced him again for her last struggle + with him. He had tricked her this time, effectually, and luck had been on + his side. She was booked as Mrs. Beaumont. Save for her refusal to enter + their room, and her eccentricity of eating with unwashed hands, she had so + far kept up the appearances of things before the waiter. But the dinner + was grim enough. Now in turn she appealed to his better nature and made + extravagant statements of her plans to fool him. + </p> + <p> + He was white and vicious by this time, and his anger quivered through his + pose of brilliant wickedness. + </p> + <p> + “I will go to the station,” she said. “I will go back—” + </p> + <p> + “The last train for anywhere leaves at 7.42.” + </p> + <p> + “I will appeal to the police—” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know them.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell these hotel people.” + </p> + <p> + “They will turn you out of doors. You're in such a thoroughly false + position now. They don't understand unconventionality, down here.” + </p> + <p> + She stamped her foot. “If I wander about the streets all night—” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “You who have never been out alone after dusk? Do you know what the + streets of a charming little holiday resort are like—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” she said. “I can go to the clergyman here.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a charming man. Unmarried. And men are really more alike than you + think. And anyhow—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “How CAN you explain the last two nights to anyone now? The mischief is + done, Jessie.” + </p> + <p> + “You CUR,” she said, and suddenly put her hand to her breast. He thought + she meant to faint, but she stood, with the colour gone from her face. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Love!” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—love.” + </p> + <p> + “There are ways yet,” she said, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Not for you. You are too full of life and hope yet for, what is it?—not + the dark arch nor the black flowing river. Don't you think of it. You'll + only shirk it when the moment comes, and turn it all into comedy.” + </p> + <p> + She turned round abruptly from him and stood looking out across the parade + at the shining sea over which the afterglow of day fled before the rising + moon. He maintained his attitude. The blinds were still up, for she had + told the waiter not to draw them. There was silence for some moments. + </p> + <p> + At last he spoke in as persuasive a voice as he could summon. “Take it + sensibly, Jessie. Why should we, who have so much in common, quarrel into + melodrama? I swear I love you. You are all that is bright and desirable to + me. I am stronger than you, older; man to your woman. To find YOU too—conventional!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him over her shoulder, and he noticed with a twinge of + delight how her little chin came out beneath the curve of her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “MAN!” she said. “Man to MY woman! Do MEN lie? Would a MAN use his five + and thirty years' experience to outwit a girl of seventeen? Man to my + woman indeed! That surely is the last insult!” + </p> + <p> + “Your repartee is admirable, Jessie. I should say they do, though—all + that and more also when their hearts were set on such a girl as yourself. + For God's sake drop this shrewishness! Why should you be so—difficult + to me? Here am I with MY reputation, MY career, at your feet. Look here, + Jessie—on my honour, I will marry you—” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid,” she said, so promptly that she never learnt he had a wife, + even then. It occurred to him then for the first time, in the flash of her + retort, that she did not know he was married. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis only a pre-nuptial settlement,” he said, following that hint. + </p> + <p> + He paused. + </p> + <p> + “You must be sensible. The thing's your own doing. Come out on the beach + now the beach here is splendid, and the moon will soon be high.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> WON'T” she said, stamping her foot. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! leave me alone. Let me think—” + </p> + <p> + “Think,” he said, “if you want to. It's your cry always. But you can't + save yourself by thinking, my dear girl. You can't save yourself in any + way now. If saving it is—this parsimony—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go—go.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I will go. I will go and smoke a cigar. And think of you, + dear.... But do you think I should do all this if I did not care?” + </p> + <p> + “Go,” she whispered, without glancing round. She continued to stare out of + the window. He stood looking at her for a moment, with a strange light in + his eyes. He made a step towards her. “I HAVE you,”, he said. “You are + mine. Netted—caught. But mine.” He would have gone up to her and + laid his hand upon her, but he did not dare to do that yet. “I have you in + my hand,” he said, “in my power. Do you hear—POWER!” + </p> + <p> + She remained impassive. He stared at her for half a minute, and then, with + a superb gesture that was lost upon her, went to the door. Surely the + instinctive abasement of her sex before Strength was upon his side. He + told himself that his battle was won. She heard the handle move and the + catch click as the door closed behind him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> + <p> + And now without in the twilight behold Mr. Hoopdriver, his cheeks hot, his + eye bright! His brain is in a tumult. The nervous, obsequious Hoopdriver, + to whom I introduced you some days since, has undergone a wonderful + change. Ever since he lost that 'spoor' in Chichester, he has been + tormented by the most horrible visions of the shameful insults that may be + happening. The strangeness of new surroundings has been working to strip + off the habitual servile from him. Here was moonlight rising over the + memory of a red sunset, dark shadows and glowing orange lamps, beauty + somewhere mysteriously rapt away from him, tangible wrong in a brown suit + and an unpleasant face, flouting him. Mr. Hoopdriver for the time, was in + the world of Romance and Knight-errantry, divinely forgetful of his social + position or hers; forgetting, too, for the time any of the wretched + timidities that had tied him long since behind the counter in his proper + place. He was angry and adventurous. It was all about him, this vivid + drama he had fallen into, and it was eluding him. He was far too grimly in + earnest to pick up that lost thread and make a play of it now. The man was + living. He did not pose when he alighted at the coffee tavern even, nor + when he made his hasty meal. + </p> + <p> + As Bechamel crossed from the Vicuna towards the esplanade, Hoopdriver, + disappointed and exasperated, came hurrying round the corner from the + Temperance Hotel. At the sight of Bechamel, his heart jumped, and the + tension of his angry suspense exploded into, rather than gave place to, an + excited activity of mind. They were at the Vicuna, and she was there now + alone. It was the occasion he sought. But he would give Chance no chance + against him. He went back round the corner, sat down on the seat, and + watched Bechamel recede into the dimness up the esplanade, before he got + up and walked into the hotel entrance. “A lady cyclist in grey,” he asked + for, and followed boldly on the waiter's heels. The door of the + dining-room was opening before he felt a qualm. And then suddenly he was + nearly minded to turn and run for it, and his features seemed to him to be + convulsed. + </p> + <p> + She turned with a start, and looked at him with something between terror + and hope in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Can I—have a few words—with you, alone?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, + controlling his breath with difficulty. She hesitated, and then motioned + the waiter to withdraw. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver watched the door shut. He had intended to step out into the + middle of the room, fold his arms and say, “You are in trouble. I am a + Friend. Trust me.” Instead of which he stood panting and then spoke with + sudden familiarity, hastily, guiltily: “Look here. I don't know what the + juice is up, but I think there's something wrong. Excuse my intruding—if + it isn't so. I'll do anything you like to help you out of the scrape—if + you're in one. That's my meaning, I believe. What can I do? I would do + anything to help you.” + </p> + <p> + Her brow puckered, as she watched him make, with infinite emotion, this + remarkable speech. “YOU!” she said. She was tumultuously weighing + possibilities in her mind, and he had scarcely ceased when she had made + her resolve. + </p> + <p> + She stepped a pace forward. “You are a gentleman,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Can I trust you?” + </p> + <p> + She did not wait for his assurance. “I must leave this hotel at once. Come + here.” + </p> + <p> + She took his arm and led him to the window. + </p> + <p> + “You can just see the gate. It is still open. Through that are our + bicycles. Go down, get them out, and I will come down to you. Dare you? + </p> + <p> + “Get your bicycle out in the road?” + </p> + <p> + “Both. Mine alone is no good. At once. Dare you?” + </p> + <p> + “Which way?” + </p> + <p> + “Go out by the front door and round. I will follow in one minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Right!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, and went. + </p> + <p> + He had to get those bicycles. Had he been told to go out and kill Bechamel + he would have done it. His head was a maelstrom now. He walked out of the + hotel, along the front, and into the big, black-shadowed coach yard. He + looked round. There were no bicycles visible. Then a man emerged from the + dark, a short man in a short, black, shiny jacket. Hoopdriver was caught. + He made no attempt to turn and run for it. “I've been giving your machines + a wipe over, sir,” said the man, recognising the suit, and touching his + cap. Hoopdriver's intelligence now was a soaring eagle; he swooped on the + situation at once. “That's right,” he said, and added, before the pause + became marked, “Where is mine? I want to look at the chain.” + </p> + <p> + The man led him into an open shed, and went fumbling for a lantern. + Hoopdriver moved the lady's machine out of his way to the door, and then + laid hands on the man's machine and wheeled it out of the shed into the + yard. The gate stood open and beyond was the pale road and a clump of + trees black in the twilight. He stooped and examined the chain with + trembling fingers. How was it to be done? Something behind the gate seemed + to flutter. The man must be got rid of anyhow. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said Hoopdriver, with an inspiration, “can you get me a + screwdriver?” + </p> + <p> + The man simply walked across the shed, opened and shut a box, and came up + to the kneeling Hoopdriver with a screwdriver in his hand. Hoopdriver felt + himself a lost man. He took the screwdriver with a tepid “Thanks,” and + incontinently had another inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said again. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “This is miles too big.” + </p> + <p> + The man lit the lantern, brought it up to Hoopdriver and put it down on + the ground. “Want a smaller screwdriver?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Hoopdriver had his handkerchief out and sneezed a prompt ATICHEW. It is + the orthodox thing when you wish to avoid recognition. “As small as you + have,” he said, out of his pocket handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't got none smaller than that,” said the ostler. + </p> + <p> + “Won't do, really,” said Hoopdriver, still wallowing in his handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see wot they got in the 'ouse, if you like, sir,” said the man. “If + you would,” said Hoopdriver. And as the man's heavily nailed boots went + clattering down the yard, Hoopdriver stood up, took a noiseless step to + the lady's machine, laid trembling hands on its handle and saddle, and + prepared for a rush. + </p> + <p> + The scullery door opened momentarily and sent a beam of warm, yellow light + up the road, shut again behind the man, and forthwith Hoopdriver rushed + the machines towards the gate. A dark grey form came fluttering to meet + him. “Give me this,” she said, “and bring yours.” + </p> + <p> + He passed the thing to her, touched her hand in the darkness, ran back, + seized Bechamel's machine, and followed. + </p> + <p> + The yellow light of the scullery door suddenly flashed upon the cobbles + again. It was too late now to do anything but escape. He heard the ostler + shout behind him, and came into the road. She was up and dim already. He + got into the saddle without a blunder. In a moment the ostler was in the + gateway with a full-throated “HI! sir! That ain't allowed;” and Hoopdriver + was overtaking the Young Lady in Grey. For some moments the earth seemed + alive with shouts of, “Stop 'em!” and the shadows with ambuscades of + police. The road swept round, and they were riding out of sight of the + hotel, and behind dark hedges, side by side. + </p> + <p> + She was weeping with excitement as he overtook her. “Brave,” she said, + “brave!” and he ceased to feel like a hunted thief. He looked over his + shoulder and about him, and saw that they were already out of Bognor—for + the Vicuna stands at the very westernmost extremity of the sea front—and + riding on a fair wide road. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. + </h2> + <p> + The ostler (being a fool) rushed violently down the road vociferating + after them. Then he returned panting to the Vicuna Hotel, and finding a + group of men outside the entrance, who wanted to know what was UP, stopped + to give them the cream of the adventure. That gave the fugitives five + minutes. Then pushing breathlessly into the bar, he had to make it clear + to the barmaid what the matter was, and the 'gov'nor' being out, they + spent some more precious time wondering 'what—EVER' was to be done! + in which the two customers returning from outside joined with animation. + There were also moral remarks and other irrelevant contributions. There + were conflicting ideas of telling the police and pursuing the flying + couple on a horse. That made ten minutes. Then Stephen, the waiter, who + had shown Hoopdriver up, came down and lit wonderful lights and started + quite a fresh discussion by the simple question “WHICH?” That turned ten + minutes into a quarter of an hour. And in the midst of this discussion, + making a sudden and awestricken silence, appeared Bechamel in the hall + beyond the bar, walked with a resolute air to the foot of the staircase, + and passed out of sight. You conceive the backward pitch of that + exceptionally shaped cranium? Incredulous eyes stared into one another's + in the bar, as his paces, muffled by the stair carpet, went up to the + landing, turned, reached the passage and walked into the dining-room + overhead. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't that one at all, miss,” said the ostler, “I'd SWEAR” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's Mr. Beaumont,” said the barmaid, “—anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + Their conversation hung comatose in the air, switched up by Bechamel. They + listened together. His feet stopped. Turned. Went out of the diningroom. + Down the passage to the bedroom. Stopped again. + </p> + <p> + “Poor chap!” said the barmaid. “She's a wicked woman!” + </p> + <p> + “Sssh!” said Stephen. + </p> + <p> + After a pause Bechamel went back to the dining-room. They heard a chair + creak under him. Interlude of conversational eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going up,” said Stephen, “to break the melancholy news to him.” + </p> + <p> + Bechamel looked up from a week-old newspaper as, without knocking, Stephen + entered. Bechamel's face suggested a different expectation. “Beg pardon, + sir,” said Stephen, with a diplomatic cough. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Bechamel, wondering suddenly if Jessie had kept some of her + threats. If so, he was in for an explanation. But he had it ready. She was + a monomaniac. “Leave me alone with her,” he would say; “I know how to calm + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Beaumont,” said Stephen. + </p> + <p> + “WELL?” + </p> + <p> + “Has gone.” + </p> + <p> + He rose with a fine surprise. “Gone!” he said with a half laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Gone, sir. On her bicycle.” + </p> + <p> + “On her bicycle! Why?” + </p> + <p> + “She went, sir, with Another Gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + This time Bechamel was really startled. “An—other Gentlemen! WHO?” + </p> + <p> + “Another gentleman in brown, sir. Went into the yard, sir, got out the two + bicycles, sir, and went off, sir—about twenty minutes ago.” + </p> + <p> + Bechamel stood with his eyes round and his knuckle on his hips. Stephen, + watching him with immense enjoyment, speculated whether this abandoned + husband would weep or curse, or rush off at once in furious pursuit. But + as yet he seemed merely stunned. + </p> + <p> + “Brown clothes?” he said. “And fairish?” + </p> + <p> + “A little like yourself, sir—in the dark. The ostler, sir, Jim Duke—” + </p> + <p> + Bechamel laughed awry. Then, with infinite fervour, he said—But let + us put in blank cartridge—he said, “———!” + </p> + <p> + “I might have thought!” + </p> + <p> + He flung himself into the armchair. + </p> + <p> + “Damn her,” said Bechamel, for all the world like a common man. “I'll + chuck this infernal business! They've gone, eigh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yessir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let 'em GO,” said Bechamel, making a memorable saying. “Let 'em GO. + Who cares? And I wish him luck. And bring me some Bourbon as fast as you + can, there's a good chap. I'll take that, and then I'll have another look + round Bognor before I turn in.” + </p> + <p> + Stephen was too surprised to say anything but “Bourbon, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Bechamel. “Damn you!” + </p> + <p> + Stephen's sympathies changed at once. “Yessir,” he murmured, fumbling for + the door handle, and left the room, marvelling. Bechamel, having in this + way satisfied his sense of appearances, and comported himself as a Pagan + should, so soon as the waiter's footsteps had passed, vented the cream of + his feelings in a stream of blasphemous indecency. Whether his wife or HER + stepmother had sent the detective, SHE had evidently gone off with him, + and that little business was over. And he was here, stranded and sold, an + ass, and as it were, the son of many generations of asses. And his only + ray of hope was that it seemed more probable, after all, that the girl had + escaped through her stepmother. In which case the business might be hushed + up yet, and the evil hour of explanation with his wife indefinitely + postponed. Then abruptly the image of that lithe figure in grey + knickerbockers went frisking across his mind again, and he reverted to his + blasphemies. He started up in a gusty frenzy with a vague idea of pursuit, + and incontinently sat down again with a concussion that stirred the bar + below to its depths. He banged the arms of the chair with his fist, and + swore again. “Of all the accursed fools that were ever spawned,” he was + chanting, “I, Bechamel—” when with an abrupt tap and prompt opening + of the door, Stephen entered with the Bourbon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. THE MOONLIGHT RIDE + </h2> + <p> + And so the twenty minutes' law passed into an infinity. We leave the + wicked Bechamel clothing himself with cursing as with a garment,—the + wretched creature has already sufficiently sullied our modest but truthful + pages,—we leave the eager little group in the bar of the Vicuna + Hotel, we leave all Bognor as we have left all Chichester and Midhurst and + Haslemere and Guildford and Ripley and Putney, and follow this dear fool + of a Hoopdriver of ours and his Young Lady in Grey out upon the moonlight + road. How they rode! How their hearts beat together and their breath came + fast, and how every shadow was anticipation and every noise pursuit! For + all that flight Mr. Hoopdriver was in the world of Romance. Had a + policeman intervened because their lamps were not lit, Hoopdriver had cut + him down and ridden on, after the fashion of a hero born. Had Bechamel + arisen in the way with rapiers for a duel, Hoopdriver had fought as one to + whom Agincourt was a reality and drapery a dream. It was Rescue, + Elopement, Glory! And she by the side of him! He had seen her face in + shadow, with the morning sunlight tangled in her hair, he had seen her + sympathetic with that warm light in her face, he had seen her troubled and + her eyes bright with tears. But what light is there lighting a face like + hers, to compare with the soft glamour of the midsummer moon? + </p> + <p> + The road turned northward, going round through the outskirts of Bognor, in + one place dark and heavy under a thick growth of trees, then amidst villas + again, some warm and lamplit, some white and sleeping in the moonlight; + then between hedges, over which they saw broad wan meadows shrouded in a + low-lying mist. They scarcely heeded whither they rode at first, being + only anxious to get away, turning once westward when the spire of + Chichester cathedral rose suddenly near them out of the dewy night, pale + and intricate and high. They rode, speaking little, just a rare word now + and then, at a turning, at a footfall, at a roughness in the road. + </p> + <p> + She seemed to be too intent upon escape to give much thought to him, but + after the first tumult of the adventure, as flight passed into mere steady + ridin@@ his mind became an enormous appreciation of the position. The + night was a warm white silence save for the subtile running of their + chains. He looked sideways at her as she sat beside him with her ankles + gracefully ruling the treadles. Now the road turned westward, and she was + a dark grey outline against the shimmer of the moon; and now they faced + northwards, and the soft cold light passed caressingly over her hair and + touched her brow and cheek. + </p> + <p> + There is a magic quality in moonshine; it touches all that is sweet and + beautiful, and the rest of the night is hidden. It has created the + fairies, whom the sunlight kills, and fairyland rises again in our hearts + at the sight of it, the voices of the filmy route, and their faint, + soul-piercing melodies. By the moonlight every man, dull clod though he be + by day, tastes something of Endymion, takes something of the youth and + strength of Enidymion, and sees the dear white goddess shining at him from + his Lady's eyes. The firm substantial daylight things become ghostly and + elusive, the hills beyond are a sea of unsubstantial texture, the world a + visible spirit, the spiritual within us rises out of its darkness, loses + something of its weight and body, and swims up towards heaven. This road + that was a mere rutted white dust, hot underfoot, blinding to the eye, is + now a soft grey silence, with the glitter of a crystal grain set starlike + in its silver here and there. Overhead, riding serenely through the + spacious blue, is the mother of the silence, she who has spiritualised the + world, alone save for two attendant steady shining stars. And in silence + under her benign influence, under the benediction of her light, rode our + two wanderers side by side through the transfigured and transfiguring + night. + </p> + <p> + Nowhere was the moon shining quite so brightly as in Mr. Hoopdriver's + skull. At the turnings of the road he made his decisions with an air of + profound promptitude (and quite haphazard). “The Right,” he would say. Or + again “The Left,” as one who knew. So it was that in the space of an hour + they came abruptly down a little lane, full tilt upon the sea. Grey beach + to the right of them and to the left, and a little white cottage fast + asleep inland of a sleeping fishing-boat. “Hullo!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, + sotto voce. They dismounted abruptly. Stunted oaks and thorns rose out of + the haze of moonlight that was tangled in the hedge on either side. + </p> + <p> + “You are safe,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, sweeping off his cap with an air and + bowing courtly. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we?” + </p> + <p> + “SAFE.” + </p> + <p> + “But WHERE?” + </p> + <p> + “Chichester Harbour.” He waved his arm seaward as though it was a goal. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think they will follow us?” + </p> + <p> + “We have turned and turned again.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Hoopdriver that he heard her sob. She stood dimly there, + holding her machine, and he, holding his, could go no nearer to her to see + if she sobbed for weeping or for want of breath. “What are we to do now?” + her voice asked. + </p> + <p> + “Are you tired?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I will do what has to be done.” + </p> + <p> + The two black figures in the broken light were silent for a space. “Do you + know,” she said, “I am not afraid of you. I am sure you are honest to me. + And I do not even know your name!” + </p> + <p> + He was taken with a sudden shame of his homely patronymic. “It's an ugly + name,” he said. “But you are right in trusting me. I would—I would + do anything for you.... This is nothing.” + </p> + <p> + She caught at her breath. She did not care to ask why. But compared with + Bechamel!—“We take each other on trust,” she said. “Do you want to + know—how things are with me?” + </p> + <p> + “That man,” she went on, after the assent of his listening silence, + “promised to help and protect me. I was unhappy at home—never mind + why. A stepmother—Idle, unoccupied, hindered, cramped, that is + enough, perhaps. Then he came into my life, and talked to me of art and + literature, and set my brain on fire. I wanted to come out into the world, + to be a human being—not a thing in a hutch. And he—” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “And now here I am—” + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything,” said Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + She thought. “You cannot imagine my stepmother. No! I could not describe + her—” + </p> + <p> + “I am entirely at your service. I will help you with all my power.” + </p> + <p> + “I have lost an Illusion and found a Knight-errant.” She spoke of Bechamel + as the Illusion. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver felt flattered. But he had no adequate answer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinking,” he said, full of a rapture of protective responsibility, + “what we had best be doing. You are tired, you know. And we can't wander + all night—after the day we've had.” + </p> + <p> + “That was Chichester we were near?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “If,” he meditated, with a tremble in his voice, “you would make ME your + brother, MISS BEAUMONT.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “We could stop there together—” + </p> + <p> + She took a minute to answer. “I am going to light these lamps,” said + Hoopdriver. He bent down to his own, and struck a match on his shoe. She + looked at his face in its light, grave and intent. How could she ever have + thought him common or absurd? + </p> + <p> + “But you must tell me your name—brother,” she said, + </p> + <p> + “Er—Carrington,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, after a momentary pause. Who + would be Hoopdriver on a night like this? + </p> + <p> + “But the Christian name?” + </p> + <p> + “Christian name? MY Christian name. Well—Chris.” He snapped his lamp + and stood up. “If you will hold my machine, I will light yours,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She came round obediently and took his machine, and for a moment they + stood face to face. “My name, brother Chris,” she said, “is Jessie.” + </p> + <p> + He looked into her eyes, and his excitement seemed arrested. “JESSIE,” he + repeated slowly. The mute emotion of his face affected her strangely. She + had to speak. “It's not such a very wonderful name, is it?” she said, with + a laugh to break the intensity. + </p> + <p> + He opened his mouth and shut it again, and, with a sudden wincing of his + features, abruptly turned and bent down to open the lantern in front of + her machine. She looked down at him, almost kneeling in front of her, with + an unreasonable approbation in her eyes. It was, as I have indicated, the + hour and season of the full moon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver conducted the rest of that night's journey with the same + confident dignity as before, and it was chiefly by good luck and the fact + that most roads about a town converge thereupon, that Chichester was at + last attained. It seemed at first as though everyone had gone to bed, but + the Red Hotel still glowed yellow and warm. It was the first time + Hoopdriver bad dared the mysteries of a 'first-class' hotel.' But that + night he was in the mood to dare anything. + </p> + <p> + “So you found your Young Lady at last,” said the ostler of the Red Hotel; + for it chanced he was one of those of whom Hoopdriver had made inquiries + in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Quite a misunderstanding,” said Hoopdriver, with splendid readiness. “My + sister had gone to Bognor But I brought her back here. I've took a fancy + to this place. And the moonlight's simply dee-vine.” + </p> + <p> + “We've had supper, thenks, and we're tired,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “I + suppose you won't take anything,—Jessie?” + </p> + <p> + The glory of having her, even as a sister! and to call her Jessie like + that! But he carried it off splendidly, as he felt himself bound to admit. + “Good-night, Sis,” he said, “and pleasant dreams. I'll just 'ave a look at + this paper before I turn in.” But this was living indeed! he told himself. + </p> + <p> + So gallantly did Mr. Hoopdriver comport himself up to the very edge of the + Most Wonderful Day of all. It had begun early, you will remember, with a + vigil in a little sweetstuff shop next door to the Angel at Midhurst. But + to think of all the things that had happened since then! He caught himself + in the middle of a yawn, pulled out his watch, saw the time was halfpast + eleven, and marched off, with a fine sense of heroism, bedward. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. THE SURBITON INTERLUDE + </h2> + <p> + And here, thanks to the glorious institution of sleep, comes a break in + the narrative again. These absurd young people are safely tucked away now, + their heads full of glowing nonsense, indeed, but the course of events at + any rate is safe from any fresh developments through their activities for + the next eight hours or more. They are both sleeping healthily you will + perhaps be astonished to hear. Here is the girl—what girls are + coming to nowadays only Mrs. Lynn Linton can tell!—in company with + an absolute stranger, of low extraction and uncertain accent, unchaperoned + and unabashed; indeed, now she fancies she is safe, she is, if anything, a + little proud of her own share in these transactions. Then this Mr. + Hoopdriver of yours, roseate idiot that he is! is in illegal possession of + a stolen bicycle, a stolen young lady, and two stolen names, established + with them in an hotel that is quite beyond his means, and immensely proud + of himself in a somnolent way for these incomparable follies. There are + occasions when a moralising novelist can merely wring his hands and leave + matters to take their course. For all Hoopdriver knows or cares he may be + locked up the very first thing to-morrow morning for the rape of the + cycle. Then in Bognor, let alone that melancholy vestige, Bechamel (with + whom our dealings are, thank Goodness! over), there is a Coffee Tavern + with a steak Mr. Hoopdriver ordered, done to a cinder long ago, his + American-cloth parcel in a bedroom, and his own proper bicycle, by way of + guarantee, carefully locked up in the hayloft. To-morrow he will be a + Mystery, and they will be looking for his body along the sea front. And so + far we have never given a glance at the desolate home in Surbiton, + familiar to you no doubt through the medium of illustrated interviews, + where the unhappy stepmother— + </p> + <p> + That stepmother, it must be explained, is quite well known to you. That is + a little surprise I have prepared for you. She is 'Thomas Plantagenet,' + the gifted authoress of that witty and daring book, “A Soul Untrammelled,” + and quite an excellent woman in her way,—only it is such a crooked + way. Her real name is Milton. She is a widow and a charming one, only ten + years older than Jessie, and she is always careful to dedicate her more + daring works to the 'sacred memory of my husband' to show that there's + nothing personal, you know, in the matter. Considering her literary + reputation (she was always speaking of herself as one I martyred for + truth,' because the critics advertised her written indecorums in column + long 'slates'),—considering her literary reputation, I say, she was + one of the most respectable women it is possible to imagine. She furnished + correctly, dressed correctly, had severe notions of whom she might meet, + went to church, and even at times took the sacrament in some esoteric + spirit. And Jessie she brought up so carefully that she never even let her + read “A Soul Untrammelled.” Which, therefore, naturally enough, Jessie + did, and went on from that to a feast of advanced literature. Mrs. Milton + not only brought up Jessie carefully, but very slowly, so that at + seventeen she was still a clever schoolgirl (as you have seen her) and + quite in the background of the little literary circle of unimportant + celebrities which 'Thomas Plantagenet' adorned. Mrs. Milton knew + Bechamel's reputation of being a dangerous man; but then bad men are not + bad women, and she let him come to her house to show she was not afraid—she + took no account of Jessie. When the elopement came, therefore, it was a + double disappointment to her, for she perceived his hand by a kind of + instinct. She did the correct thing. The correct thing, as you know, is to + take hansom cabs, regardless of expense, and weep and say you do not know + WHAT to do, round the circle of your confidential friends. She could not + have ridden nor wept more had Jessie been her own daughter—she + showed the properest spirit. And she not only showed it, but felt it. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Milton, as a successful little authoress and still more successful + widow of thirty-two,—“Thomas Plantagenet is a charming woman,” her + reviewers used to write invariably, even if they spoke ill of her,—found + the steady growth of Jessie into womanhood an unmitigated nuisance and had + been willing enough to keep her in the background. And Jessie—who + had started this intercourse at fourteen with abstract objections to + stepmothers—had been active enough in resenting this. Increasing + rivalry and antagonism had sprung up between them, until they could + engender quite a vivid hatred from a dropped hairpin or the cutting of a + book with a sharpened knife. There is very little deliberate wickedness in + the world. The stupidity of our selfishness gives much the same results + indeed, but in the ethical laboratory it shows a different nature. And + when the disaster came, Mrs. Milton's remorse for their gradual loss of + sympathy and her share in the losing of it, was genuine enough. + </p> + <p> + You may imagine the comfort she got from her friends, and how West + Kensington and Notting Hill and Hampstead, the literary suburbs, those + decent penitentiaries of a once Bohemian calling, hummed with the + business, Her 'Men'—as a charming literary lady she had, of course, + an organised corps—were immensely excited, and were sympathetic; + helpfully energetic, suggestive, alert, as their ideals of their various + dispositions required them to be. “Any news of Jessie?” was the pathetic + opening of a dozen melancholy but interesting conversations. To her Men + she was not perhaps so damp as she was to her women friends, but in a + quiet way she was even more touching. For three days, Wednesday that is, + Thursday, and Friday, nothing was heard of the fugitives. It was known + that Jessie, wearing a patent costume with buttonup skirts, and mounted on + a diamond frame safety with Dunlops, and a loofah covered saddle, had + ridden forth early in the morning, taking with her about two pounds seven + shillings in money, and a grey touring case packed, and there, save for a + brief note to her stepmother,—a declaration of independence, it was + said, an assertion of her Ego containing extensive and very annoying + quotations from “A Soul Untrammelled,” and giving no definite intimation + of her plans—knowledge ceased. That note was shown to few, and then + only in the strictest confidence. + </p> + <p> + But on Friday evening late came a breathless Man Friend, Widgery, a + correspondent of hers, who had heard of her trouble among the first. He + had been touring in Sussex,—his knapsack was still on his back,—and + he testified hurriedly that at a place called Midhurst, in the bar of an + hotel called the Angel, he had heard from a barmaid a vivid account of a + Young Lady in Grey. Descriptions tallied. But who was the man in brown? + “The poor, misguided girl! I must go to her at once,” she said, choking, + and rising with her hand to her heart. + </p> + <p> + “It's impossible to-night. There are no more trains. I looked on my way.” + </p> + <p> + “A mother's love,” she said. “I bear her THAT.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you do.” He spoke with feeling, for no one admired his photographs + of scenery more than Mrs. Milton. “It's more than she deserves.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't speak unkindly of her! She has been misled.” + </p> + <p> + It was really very friendly of him. He declared he was only sorry his news + ended there. Should he follow them, and bring her back? He had come to her + because he knew of her anxiety. “It is GOOD of you,” she said, and quite + instinctively took and pressed his hand. “And to think of that poor girl—tonight! + It's dreadful.” She looked into the fire that she had lit when he came in, + the warm light fell upon her dark purple dress, and left her features in a + warm shadow. She looked such a slight, frail thing to be troubled so. “We + must follow her.” Her resolution seemed magnificent. “I have no one to go + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “He must marry her,” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “She has no friends. We have no one. After all—Two women.—So + helpless.” + </p> + <p> + And this fair-haired little figure was the woman that people who knew her + only from her books, called bold, prurient even! Simply because she was + great-hearted—intellectual. He was overcome by the unspeakable + pathos of her position. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Milton,” he said. “Hetty!” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him. The overflow was imminent. “Not now,” she said, “not + now. I must find her first.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said with intense emotion. (He was one of those big, fat men who + feel deeply.) “But let me help you. At least let me help you.” + </p> + <p> + “But can you spare time?” she said. “For ME.” + </p> + <p> + “For you—” + </p> + <p> + “But what can I do? what can WE do?” + </p> + <p> + “Go to Midhurst. Follow her on. Trace her. She was there on Thursday + night, last night. She cycled out of the town. Courage!” he said. “We will + save her yet!” + </p> + <p> + She put out her hand and pressed his again. + </p> + <p> + “Courage!” he repeated, finding it so well received. + </p> + <p> + There were alarms and excursions without. She turned her back to the fire, + and he sat down suddenly in the big armchair, which suited his dimensions + admirably. Then the door opened, and the girl showed in Dangle, who looked + curiously from one to the other. There was emotion here, he had heard the + armchair creaking, and Mrs. Milton, whose face was flushed, displayed a + suspicious alacrity to explain. “You, too,” she said, “are one of my good + friends. And we have news of her at last.” + </p> + <p> + It was decidedly an advantage to Widgery, but Dangle determined to show + himself a man of resource. In the end he, too, was accepted for the + Midhurst Expedition, to the intense disgust of Widgery; and young Phipps, + a callow youth of few words, faultless collars, and fervent devotion, was + also enrolled before the evening was out. They would scour the country, + all three of them. She appeared to brighten up a little, but it was + evident she was profoundly touched. She did not know what she had done to + merit such friends. Her voice broke a little, she moved towards the door, + and young Phipps, who was a youth of action rather than of words, sprang + and opened it—proud to be first. + </p> + <p> + “She is sorely troubled,” said Dangle to Widgery. “We must do what we can + for her.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a wonderful woman,” said Dangle. “So subtle, so intricate, so many + faceted. She feels this deeply.” + </p> + <p> + Young Phipps said nothing, but he felt the more. + </p> + <p> + And yet they say the age of chivalry is dead! + </p> + <p> + But this is only an Interlude, introduced to give our wanderers time to + refresh themselves by good, honest sleeping. For the present, therefore, + we will not concern ourselves with the starting of the Rescue Party, nor + with Mrs. Milton's simple but becoming grey dress, with the healthy + Widgery's Norfolk jacket and thick boots, with the slender Dangle's + energetic bearing, nor with the wonderful chequerings that set off the + legs of the golf-suited Phipps. They are after us. In a little while they + will be upon us. You must imagine as you best can the competitive raidings + at Midhurst of Widgery, Dangle, and Phipps. How Widgery was great at + questions, and Dangle good at inference, and Phipps so conspicuously + inferior in everything that he felt it, and sulked with Mrs. Milton most + of the day, after the manner of your callow youth the whole world over. + Mrs. Milton stopped at the Angel and was very sad and charming and + intelligent, and Widgery paid the bill in the afternoon of Saturday, + Chichester was attained. But by that time our fugitives—As you shall + immediately hear. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. THE AWAKENING OF MR. HOOPDRIVER + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver stirred on his pillow, opened his eyes, and, staring + unmeaningly, yawned. The bedclothes were soft and pleasant. He turned the + peaked nose that overrides the insufficient moustache, up to the ceiling, + a pinkish projection over the billow of white. You might see it wrinkle as + he yawned again, and then became quiet. So matters remained for a space. + Very slowly recollection returned to him. Then a shock of indeterminate + brown hair appeared, and first one watery grey eye a-wondering, and then + two; the bed upheaved, and you had him, his thin neck projecting abruptly + from the clothes he held about him, his face staring about the room. He + held the clothes about him, I hope I may explain, because his night-shirt + was at Bognor in an American-cloth packet, derelict. He yawned a third + time, rubbed his eyes, smacked his lips. He was recalling almost + everything now. The pursuit, the hotel, the tremulous daring of his entry, + the swift adventure of the inn yard, the moonlight—Abruptly he threw + the clothes back and rose into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. + Without was the noise of shutters being unfastened and doors unlocked, and + the passing of hoofs and wheels in the street. He looked at his watch. + Half-past six. He surveyed the sumptuous room again. + </p> + <p> + “Lord!” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “It wasn't a dream, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what they charge for these Juiced rooms!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, + nursing one rosy foot. + </p> + <p> + He became meditative, tugging at his insufficient moustache. Suddenly he + gave vent to a noiseless laugh. “What a rush it was! Rushed in and off + with his girl right under his nose. Planned it well too. Talk of highway + robbery! Talk of brigands Up and off! How juiced SOLD he must be feeling + It was a shave too—in the coach yard!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he became silent. Abruptly his eyebrows rose and his jaw fell. “I + sa-a-ay!” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + He had never thought of it before. Perhaps you will understand the whirl + he had been in overnight. But one sees things clearer in the daylight. + “I'm hanged if I haven't been and stolen a blessed bicycle.” + </p> + <p> + “Who cares?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, presently, and his face supplied the + answer. + </p> + <p> + Then he thought of the Young Lady in Grey again, and tried to put a more + heroic complexion on the business. But of an early morning, on an empty + stomach (as with characteristic coarseness, medical men put it) heroics + are of a more difficult growth than by moonlight. Everything had seemed + exceptionally fine and brilliant, but quite natural, the evening before. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver reached out his hand, took his Norfolk jacket, laid it over + his knees, and took out the money from the little ticket pocket. “Fourteen + and six-half,” he said, holding the coins in his left hand and stroking + his chin with his right. He verified, by patting, the presence of a + pocketbook in the breast pocket. “Five, fourteen, six-half,” said Mr. + Hoopdriver. “Left.” + </p> + <p> + With the Norfolk jacket still on his knees, he plunged into another silent + meditation. “That wouldn't matter,” he said. “It's the bike's the bother. + </p> + <p> + “No good going back to Bognor. + </p> + <p> + “Might send it back by carrier, of course. Thanking him for the loan. + Having no further use—” Mr. Hoopdriver chuckled and lapsed into the + silent concoction of a delightfully impudent letter. “Mr. J. Hoopdriver + presents his compliments.” But the grave note reasserted itself. + </p> + <p> + “Might trundle back there in an hour, of course, and exchange them. MY old + crock's so blessed shabby. He's sure to be spiteful too. Have me run in, + perhaps. Then she'd be in just the same old fix, only worse. You see, I'm + her Knight-errant. It complicates things so.” + </p> + <p> + His eye, wandering loosely, rested on the sponge bath. “What the juice do + they want with cream pans in a bedroom?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, en passant. + </p> + <p> + “Best thing we can do is to set out of here as soon as possible, anyhow. I + suppose she'll go home to her friends. That bicycle is a juicy nuisance, + anyhow. Juicy nuisance!” + </p> + <p> + He jumped to his feet with a sudden awakening of energy, to proceed with + his toilet. Then with a certain horror he remembered that the simple + necessaries of that process were at Bognor! “Lord!” he remarked, and + whistled silently for a space. “Rummy go! profit and loss; profit, one + sister with bicycle complete, wot offers?—cheap for tooth and 'air + brush, vests, night-shirt, stockings, and sundries. + </p> + <p> + “Make the best of it,” and presently, when it came to hair-brushing, he + had to smooth his troubled locks with his hands. It was a poor result. + “Sneak out and get a shave, I suppose, and buy a brush and so on. Chink + again! Beard don't show much.” + </p> + <p> + He ran his hand over his chin, looked at himself steadfastly for some + time, and curled his insufficient moustache up with some care. Then he + fell a-meditating on his beauty. He considered himself, three-quarter + face, left and right. An expression of distaste crept over his features. + “Looking won't alter it, Hoopdriver,” he remarked. “You're a weedy + customer, my man. Shoulders narrow. Skimpy, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + He put his knuckles on the toilet table and regarded himself with his chin + lifted in the air. “Good Lord!” he said. “WHAT a neck! Wonder why I got + such a thundering lump there.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down on the bed, his eye still on the glass. “If I'd been exercised + properly, if I'd been fed reasonable, if I hadn't been shoved out of a + silly school into a silly shop—But there! the old folks didn't know + no better. The schoolmaster ought to have. But he didn't, poor old fool!—Still, + when it comes to meeting a girl like this—It's 'ARD. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what Adam'd think of me—as a specimen. Civilisation, eigh? + Heir of the ages! I'm nothing. I know nothing. I can't do anything—sketch + a bit. Why wasn't I made an artist? + </p> + <p> + “Beastly cheap, after all, this suit does look, in the sunshine.” + </p> + <p> + “No good, Hoopdriver. Anyhow, you don't tell yourself any lies about it. + Lovers ain't your game,—anyway. But there's other things yet. You + can help the young lady, and you will—I suppose she'll be going home—And + that business of the bicycle's to see to, too, my man. FORWARD, + Hoopdriver! If you ain't a beauty, that's no reason why you should stop + and be copped, is it?” + </p> + <p> + And having got back in this way to a gloomy kind of self-satisfaction, he + had another attempt at his hair preparatory to leaving his room and + hurrying on breakfast, for an early departure. While breakfast was + preparing he wandered out into South Street and refurnished himself with + the elements of luggage again. “No expense to be spared,” he murmured, + disgorging the half-sovereign. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII. THE DEPARTURE FROM CHICHESTER + </h2> + <p> + He caused his 'sister' to be called repeatedly, and when she came down, + explained with a humorous smile his legal relationship to the bicycle in + the yard. “Might be disagreeable, y' know.” His anxiety was obvious + enough. “Very well,” she said (quite friendly); “hurry breakfast, and + we'll ride out. I want to talk things over with you.” The girl seemed more + beautiful than ever after the night's sleep; her hair in comely dark waves + from her forehead, her ungauntleted finger-tips pink and cool. And how + decided she was! Breakfast was a nervous ceremony, conversation fraternal + but thin; the waiter overawed him, and he was cowed by a multiplicity of + forks. But she called him “Chris.” They discussed their route over his + sixpenny county map for the sake of talking, but avoided a decision in the + presence of the attendant. The five-pound note was changed for the bill, + and through Hoopdriver's determination to be quite the gentleman, the + waiter and chambermaid got half a crown each and the ostler a florin. + “'Olidays,” said the ostler to himself, without gratitude. The public + mounting of the bicycles in the street was a moment of trepidation. A + policeman actually stopped and watched them from the opposite kerb. + Suppose him to come across and ask: “Is that your bicycle, sir?” Fight? Or + drop it and run? It was a time of bewildering apprehension, too, going + through the streets of the town, so that a milk cart barely escaped + destruction under Mr. Hoopdriver's chancy wheel. That recalled him to a + sense of erratic steering, and he pulled himself together. In the lanes he + breathed freer, and a less formal conversation presently began. + </p> + <p> + “You've ridden out of Chichester in a great hurry,” said Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the fact of it is, I'm worried, just a little bit. About this + machine.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she said. “I had forgotten that. But where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “Jest a turning or two more, if you don't mind,” said Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Jest a mile or so. I have to think of you, you know. I should feel more + easy. If we was locked up, you know—Not that I should mind on my own + account—” + </p> + <p> + They rode with a streaky, grey sea coming and going on their left hand. + Every mile they put between themselves and Chichester Mr. Hoopdriver felt + a little less conscience-stricken, and a little more of the gallant + desperado. Here he was riding on a splendid machine with a Slap-up girl + beside him. What would they think of it in the Emporium if any of them + were to see him? He imagined in detail the astonishment of Miss Isaacs and + of Miss Howe. “Why! It's Mr. Hoopdriver,” Miss Isaacs would say. “Never!” + emphatically from Miss Howe. Then he played with Briggs, and then tried + the 'G.V.' in a shay. “Fancy introducing 'em to her—My sister pro + tem.” He was her brother Chris—Chris what?—Confound it! + Harringon, Hartington—something like that. Have to keep off that + topic until he could remember. Wish he'd told her the truth now—almost. + He glanced at her. She was riding with her eyes straight ahead of her. + Thinking. A little perplexed, perhaps, she seemed. He noticed how well she + rode and that she rode with her lips closed—a thing he could never + manage. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver's mind came round to the future. What was she going to do? + What were they both going to do? His thoughts took a graver colour. He had + rescued her. This was fine, manly rescue work he was engaged upon. She + ought to go home, in spite of that stepmother. He must insist gravely but + firmly upon that. She was the spirited sort, of course, but still—Wonder + if she had any money? Wonder what the second-class fare from Havant to + London is? Of course he would have to pay that—it was the regular + thing, he being a gentleman. Then should he take her home? He began to + rough in a moving sketch of the return. The stepmother, repentant of her + indescribable cruelties, would be present,—even these rich people + have their troubles,—probably an uncle or two. The footman would + announce, Mr.—(bother that name!) and Miss Milton. Then two women + weeping together, and a knightly figure in the background dressed in a + handsome Norfolk jacket, still conspicuously new. He would conceal his + feeling until the very end. Then, leaving, he would pause in the doorway + in such an attitude as Mr. George Alexander might assume, and say, slowly + and dwindlingly: “Be kind to her—BE kind to her,” and so depart, + heartbroken to the meanest intelligence. But that was a matter for the + future. He would have to begin discussing the return soon. There was no + traffic along the road, and he came up beside her (he had fallen behind in + his musing). She began to talk. “Mr. Denison,” she began, and then, + doubtfully, “That is your name? I'm very stupid—” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. (Denison, was it? Denison, Denison, Denison. + What was she saying?) + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how far you are willing to help me?” Confoundedly hard to answer + a question like that on the spur of the moment, without steering wildly. + “You may rely—” said Mr. Hoopdriver, recovering from a violent + wabble. “I can assure you—I want to help you very much. Don't + consider me at all. Leastways, consider me entirely at your service.” + (Nuisance not to be able to say this kind of thing right.) + </p> + <p> + “You see, I am so awkwardly situated.” + </p> + <p> + “If I can only help you—you will make me very happy—” There + was a pause. Round a bend in the road they came upon a grassy space + between hedge and road, set with yarrow and meadowsweet, where a felled + tree lay among the green. There she dismounted, and propping her machine + against a stone, sat down. “Here, we can talk,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, expectant. + </p> + <p> + She answered after a little while, sitting, elbow on knee, with her chin + in her hand, and looking straight in front of her. “I don't know—I + am resolved to Live my Own Life.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “Naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to Live, and I want to see what life means. I want to learn. + Everyone is hurrying me, everything is hurrying me; I want time to think.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver was puzzled, but admiring. It was wonderful how clear and + ready her words were. But then one might speak well with a throat and lips + like that. He knew he was inadequate, but he tried to meet the occasion. + “If you let them rush you into anything you might repent of, of course + you'd be very silly.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't YOU want to learn?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering only this morning,” he began, and stopped. + </p> + <p> + She was too intent upon her own thoughts to notice this insufficiency. “I + find myself in life, and it terrifies me. I seem to be like a little + speck, whirling on a wheel, suddenly caught up. 'What am I here for?' I + ask. Simply to be here at a time—I asked it a week ago, I asked it + yesterday, and I ask it to-day. And little things happen and the days + pass. My stepmother takes me shopping, people come to tea, there is a new + play to pass the time, or a concert, or a novel. The wheels of the world + go on turning, turning. It is horrible. I want to do a miracle like Joshua + and stop the whirl until I have fought it out. At home—It's + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver stroked his moustache. “It IS so,” he said in a meditative + tone. “Things WILL go on,” he said. The faint breath of summer stirred the + trees, and a bunch of dandelion puff lifted among the meadowsweet and + struck and broke into a dozen separate threads against his knee. They flew + on apart, and sank, as the breeze fell, among the grass: some to + germinate, some to perish. His eye followed them until they had vanished. + </p> + <p> + “I can't go back to Surbiton,” said the Young Lady in Grey. + </p> + <p> + “EIGH?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, catching at his moustache. This was an + unexpected development. + </p> + <p> + “I want to write, you see,” said the Young Lady in Grey, “to write Books + and alter things. To do Good. I want to lead a Free Life and Own myself. I + can't go back. I want to obtain a position as a journalist. I have been + told—But I know no one to help me at once. No one that I could go + to. There is one person—She was a mistress at my school. If I could + write to her—But then, how could I get her answer?” + </p> + <p> + “H'mp,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, very grave. + </p> + <p> + “I can't trouble you much more. You have come—you have risked things—” + </p> + <p> + “That don't count,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “It's double pay to let me do it, + so to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “It is good of you to say that. Surbiton is so Conventional. I am resolved + to be Unconventional—at any cost. But we are so hampered. If I could + only burgeon out of all that hinders me! I want to struggle, to take my + place in the world. I want to be my own mistress, to shape my own career. + But my stepmother objects so. She does as she likes herself, and is strict + with me to ease her conscience. And if I go back now, go back owning + myself beaten—” She left the rest to his imagination. + </p> + <p> + “I see that,” agreed Mr. Hoopdriver. He MUST help her. Within his skull he + was doing some intricate arithmetic with five pounds six and twopence. In + some vague way he inferred from all this that Jessie was trying to escape + from an undesirable marriage, but was saying these things out of modesty. + His circle of ideas was so limited. + </p> + <p> + “You know, Mr.—I've forgotten your name again.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver seemed lost in abstraction. “You can't go back of course, + quite like that,” he said thoughtfully. His ears waxed suddenly red and + his cheeks flushed. + </p> + <p> + “But what IS your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Name!” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “Why!—Benson, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Benson—yes it's really very stupid of me. But I can never + remember names. I must make a note on my cuff.” She clicked a little + silver pencil and wrote the name down. “If I could write to my friend. I + believe she would be able to help me to an independent life. I could write + to her—or telegraph. Write, I think. I could scarcely explain in a + telegram. I know she would help me.” + </p> + <p> + Clearly there was only one course open to a gentleman under the + circumstances. “In that case,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, “if you don't mind + trusting yourself to a stranger, we might continue as we are perhaps. For + a day or so. Until you heard.” (Suppose thirty shillings a day, that gives + four days, say four thirties is hun' and twenty, six quid,—well, + three days, say; four ten.) + </p> + <p> + “You are very good to me.” + </p> + <p> + His expression was eloquent. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, and thank you. It's wonderful—it's more than I + deserve that you—” She dropped the theme abruptly. “What was our + bill at Chichester?” + </p> + <p> + “Eigh?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, feigning a certain stupidity. There was a + brief discussion. Secretly he was delighted at her insistence in paying. + She carried her point. Their talk came round to their immediate plans for + the day. They decided to ride easily, through Havant, and stop, perhaps, + at Fareham or Southampton. For the previous day had tried them both. + Holding the map extended on his knee, Mr. Hoopdriver's eye fell by chance + on the bicycle at his feet. “That bicycle,” he remarked, quite + irrelevantly, “wouldn't look the same machine if I got a big, double + Elarum instead of that little bell.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Jest a thought.” A pause. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,—Havant and lunch,” said Jessie, rising. + </p> + <p> + “I wish, somehow, we could have managed it without stealing that machine,” + said Hoopdriver. “Because it IS stealing it, you know, come to think of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense. If Mr. Bechamel troubles you—I will tell the whole world—if + need be.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you would,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, admiring her. “You're plucky + enough—goodness knows.” + </p> + <p> + Discovering suddenly that she was standing, he, too, rose and picked up + her machine. She took it and wheeled it into the road. Then he took his + own. He paused, regarding it. “I say!” said he. “How'd this bike look, + now, if it was enamelled grey?” She looked over her shoulder at his grave + face. “Why try and hide it in that way?” + </p> + <p> + “It was jest a passing thought,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, airily. “Didn't MEAN + anything, you know.” + </p> + <p> + As they were riding on to Havant it occurred to Mr. Hoopdriver in a + transitory manner that the interview had been quite other than his + expectation. But that was the way with everything in Mr. Hoopdriver's + experience. And though his Wisdom looked grave within him, and Caution was + chinking coins, and an ancient prejudice in favour of Property shook her + head, something else was there too, shouting in his mind to drown all + these saner considerations, the intoxicating thought of riding beside Her + all to-day, all to-morrow, perhaps for other days after that. Of talking + to her familiarly, being brother of all her slender strength and + freshness, of having a golden, real, and wonderful time beyond all his + imaginings. His old familiar fancyings gave place to anticipations as + impalpable and fluctuating and beautiful as the sunset of a summer day. + </p> + <p> + At Havant he took an opportunity to purchase, at small hairdresser's in + the main street, a toothbrush, a pair of nail scissors, and a little + bottle of stuff to darken the moustache, an article the shopman introduced + to his attention, recommended highly, and sold in the excitement of the + occasion. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX. THE UNEXPECTED ANECDOTE OF THE LION + </h2> + <p> + They rode on to Cosham and lunched lightly but expensively there. Jessie + went out and posted her letter to her school friend. Then the green height + of Portsdown Hill tempted them, and leaving their machines in the village + they clambered up the slope to the silent red-brick fort that crowned it. + Thence they had a view of Portsmouth and its cluster of sister towns, the + crowded narrows of the harbour, the Solent and the Isle of Wight like a + blue cloud through the hot haze. Jessie by some miracle had become a + skirted woman in the Cosham inn. Mr. Hoopdriver lounged gracefully on the + turf, smoked a Red Herring cigarette, and lazily regarded the fortified + towns that spread like a map away there, the inner line of defence like + toy fortifications, a mile off perhaps; and beyond that a few little + fields and then the beginnings of Landport suburb and the smoky cluster of + the multitudinous houses. To the right at the head of the harbour shallows + the town of Porchester rose among the trees. Mr. Hoopdriver's anxiety + receded to some remote corner of his brain and that florid half-voluntary + imagination of his shared the stage with the image of Jessie. He began to + speculate on the impression he was creating. He took stock of his suit in + a more optimistic spirit, and reviewed, with some complacency, his actions + for the last four and twenty hours. Then he was dashed at the thought of + her infinite perfections. + </p> + <p> + She had been observing him quietly, rather more closely during the last + hour or so. She did not look at him directly because he seemed always + looking at her. Her own troubles had quieted down a little, and her + curiosity about the chivalrous, worshipping, but singular gentleman in + brown, was awakening. She had recalled, too, the curious incident of their + first encounter. She found him hard to explain to herself. You must + understand that her knowledge of the world was rather less than nothing, + having been obtained entirely from books. You must not take a certain + ignorance for foolishness. + </p> + <p> + She had begun with a few experiments. He did not know French except + 'sivver play,' a phrase he seemed to regard as a very good light table + joke in itself. His English was uncertain, but not such as books informed + her distinguished the lower classes. His manners seemed to her good on the + whole, but a trifle over-respectful and out of fashion. He called her I + Madam' once. He seemed a person of means and leisure, but he knew nothing + of recent concerts, theatres, or books. How did he spend his time? He was + certainly chivalrous, and a trifle simpleminded. She fancied (so much is + there in a change of costume) that she had never met with such a man + before. What COULD he be? + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Benson,” she said, breaking a silence devoted to landscape. + </p> + <p> + He rolled over and regarded her, chin on knuckles. + </p> + <p> + “At your service.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you paint? Are you an artist?” + </p> + <p> + “Well.” Judicious pause. “I should hardly call myself a Nartist, you know. + I DO paint a little. And sketch, you know—skitty kind of things.” + </p> + <p> + He plucked and began to nibble a blade of grass. It was really not so much + lying as his quick imagination that prompted him to add, “In Papers, you + know, and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Jessie, looking at him thoughtfully. Artists were a very + heterogeneous class certainly, and geniuses had a trick of being a little + odd. He avoided her eye and bit his grass. “I don't do MUCH, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not your profession? + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Hoopdriver, anxious now to hedge. “I don't make a regular + thing of it, you know. Jest now and then something comes into my head and + down it goes. No—I'm not a regular artist.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't practise any regular profession?” Mr. Hoopdriver looked + into her eyes and saw their quiet unsuspicious regard. He had vague ideas + of resuming the detective role. “It's like this,” he said, to gain time. + “I have a sort of profession. Only there's a kind of reason—nothing + much, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon for cross-examining you.” + </p> + <p> + “No trouble,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “Only I can't very well—I leave + it to you, you know. I don't want to make any mystery of it, so far as + that goes.” Should he plunge boldly and be a barrister? That anyhow was + something pretty good. But she might know about barristry. + </p> + <p> + “I think I could guess what you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—guess,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “You come from one of the colonies?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, veering round to the new wind. “How did + you find out THAT?” (the man was born in a London suburb, dear Reader.) + </p> + <p> + “I guessed,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He lifted his eyebrows as one astonished, and clutched a new piece of + grass. + </p> + <p> + “You were educated up country.” + </p> + <p> + “Good again,” said Hoopdriver, rolling over again into her elbow. “You're + a CLAIRVOY ant.” He bit at the grass, smiling. “Which colony was it?” + </p> + <p> + “That I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You must guess,” said Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “South Africa,” she said. “I strongly incline to South Africa.” + </p> + <p> + “South Africa's quite a large place,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But South Africa is right?” + </p> + <p> + “You're warm,” said Hoopdriver, “anyhow,” and the while his imagination + was eagerly exploring this new province. + </p> + <p> + “South Africa IS right?” she insisted. + </p> + <p> + He turned over again and nodded, smiling reassuringly into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What made me think of South Africa was that novel of Olive Schreiner's, + you know—'The Story of an African Farm.' Gregory Rose is so like + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I never read 'The Story of an African Farm,'” said Hoopdriver. “I must. + What's he like?” + </p> + <p> + “You must read the book. But it's a wonderful place, with its mixture of + races, and its brand-new civilisation jostling the old savagery. Were you + near Khama?” + </p> + <p> + “He was a long way off from our place,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “We had a + little ostrich farm, you know—Just a few hundred of 'em, out + Johannesburg way.” + </p> + <p> + “On the Karroo—was it called?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the term. Some of it was freehold though. Luckily. We got along + very well in the old days.—But there's no ostriches on that farm + now.” He had a diamond mine in his head, just at the moment, but he + stopped and left a little to the girl's imagination. Besides which it had + occurred to him with a kind of shock that he was lying. + </p> + <p> + “What became of the ostriches?” + </p> + <p> + “We sold 'em off, when we parted with the farm. Do you mind if I have + another cigarette? That was when I was quite a little chap, you know, that + we had this ostrich farm.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you have Blacks and Boers about you?” + </p> + <p> + “Lots,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, striking a match on his instep and beginning + to feel hot at the new responsibility he had brought upon himself. + </p> + <p> + “How interesting! Do you know, I've never been out of England except to + Paris and Mentone and Switzerland.” + </p> + <p> + “One gets tired of travelling (puff) after a bit, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “You must tell me about your farm in South Africa. It always stimulates my + imagination to think of these places. I can fancy all the tall ostriches + being driven out by a black herd—to graze, I suppose. How do + ostriches feed?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Hoopdriver. “That's rather various. They have their fancies, + you know. There's fruit, of course, and that kind of thing. And chicken + food, and so forth. You have to use judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see a lion?” “They weren't very common in our district,” + said Hoopdriver, quite modestly. “But I've seen them, of course. Once or + twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Fancy seeing a lion! Weren't you frightened?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver was now thoroughly sorry he had accepted that offer of + South Africa. He puffed his cigarette and regarded the Solent languidly as + he settled the fate on that lion in his mind. “I scarcely had time,” he + said. “It all happened in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I was going across the inner paddock where the fatted ostriches were.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you EAT ostriches, then? I did not know—” + </p> + <p> + “Eat them!—often. Very nice they ARE too, properly stuffed. Well, we—I, + rather—was going across this paddock, and I saw something standing + up in the moonlight and looking at me.” Mr. Hoopdriver was in a hot + perspiration now. His invention seemed to have gone limp. “Luckily I had + my father's gun with me. I was scared, though, I can tell you. (Puff.) I + just aimed at the end that I thought was the head. And let fly. (Puff.) + And over it went, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Dead?” + </p> + <p> + “AS dead. It was one of the luckiest shots I ever fired. And I wasn't much + over nine at the time, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> should have screamed and run away.” + </p> + <p> + “There's some things you can't run away from,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “To + run would have been Death.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I ever met a lion-killer before,” she remarked, evidently + with a heightened opinion of him. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. She seemed meditating further questions. Mr. Hoopdriver + drew his watch hastily. “I say,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, showing it to her, + “don't you think we ought to be getting on?” + </p> + <p> + His face was flushed, his ears bright red. She ascribed his confusion to + modesty. He rose with a lion added to the burthens of his conscience, and + held out his hand to assist her. They walked down into Cosham again, + resumed their machines, and went on at a leisurely pace along the northern + shore of the big harbour. But Mr. Hoopdriver was no longer happy. This + horrible, this fulsome lie, stuck in his memory. Why HAD he done it? She + did not ask for any more South African stories, happily—at least + until Porchester was reached—but talked instead of Living One's Own + Life, and how custom hung on people like chains. She talked wonderfully, + and set Hoopdriver's mind fermenting. By the Castle, Mr. Hoopdriver caught + several crabs in little shore pools. At Fareham they stopped for a second + tea, and left the place towards the hour of sunset, under such + invigorating circumstances as you shall in due course hear. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX. THE RESCUE EXPEDITION + </h2> + <p> + And now to tell of those energetic chevaliers, Widgery, Dangle, and + Phipps, and of that distressed beauty, 'Thomas Plantagenet,' well known in + society, so the paragraphs said, as Mrs. Milton. We left them at Midhurst + station, if I remember rightly, waiting, in a state of fine emotion, for + the Chichester train. It was clearly understood by the entire Rescue Party + that Mrs. Milton was bearing up bravely against almost overwhelming grief. + The three gentlemen outdid one another in sympathetic expedients; they + watched her gravely almost tenderly. The substantial Widgery tugged at his + moustache, and looked his unspeakable feelings at her with those dog-like, + brown eyes of his; the slender Dangle tugged at HIS moustache, and did + what he could with unsympathetic grey ones. Phipps, unhappily, had no + moustache to run any risks with, so he folded his arms and talked in a + brave, indifferent, bearing-up tone about the London, Brighton, and South + Coast Railway, just to cheer the poor woman up a little. And even Mrs. + Milton really felt that exalted melancholy to the very bottom of her + heart, and tried to show it in a dozen little, delicate, feminine ways. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to do until we get to Chichester,” said Dangle. + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Widgery, and aside in her ear: “You really ate scarcely + anything, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Their trains are always late,” said Phipps, with his fingers along the + edge of his collar. Dangle, you must understand, was a sub-editor and + reviewer, and his pride was to be Thomas Plantagenet's intellectual + companion. Widgery, the big man, was manager of a bank and a mighty + golfer, and his conception of his relations to her never came into his + mind without those charming oldlines, “Douglas, Douglas, tender and true,” + falling hard upon its heels. His name was Douglas-Douglas Widgery. And + Phipps, Phipps was a medical student still, and he felt that he laid his + heart at her feet, the heart of a man of the world. She was kind to them + all in her way, and insisted on their being friends together, in spite of + a disposition to reciprocal criticism they displayed. Dangle thought + Widgery a Philistine, appreciating but coarsely the merits of “A Soul + Untrammelled,” and Widgery thought Dangle lacked, humanity—would + talk insincerely to say a clever thing. Both Dangle and Widgery thought + Phipps a bit of a cub, and Phipps thought both Dangle and Widgery a couple + of Thundering Bounders. + </p> + <p> + “They would have got to Chichester in time for lunch,” said Dangle, in the + train. “After, perhaps. And there's no sufficient place in the road. So + soon as we get there, Phipps must inquire at the chief hotels to see if + any one answering to her description has lunched there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'LL inquire,” said Phipps. “Willingly. I suppose you and Widgery + will just hang about—” + </p> + <p> + He saw an expression of pain on Mrs. Milton's gentle face, and stopped + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Dangle, “we shan't HANG ABOUT, as you put it. There are two + places in Chichester where tourists might go—the cathedral and a + remarkably fine museum. I shall go to the cathedral and make an inquiry or + so, while Widgery—” + </p> + <p> + “The museum. Very well. And after that there's a little thing or two I've + thought of myself,” said Widgery. + </p> + <p> + To begin with they took Mrs. Milton in a kind of procession to the Red + Hotel and established her there with some tea. “You are so kind to me,” + she said. “All of you.” They signified that it was nothing, and dispersed + to their inquiries. By six they returned, their zeal a little damped, + without news. Widgery came back with Dangle. Phipps was the last to + return. “You're quite sure,” said Widgery, “that there isn't any flaw in + that inference of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite,” said Dangle, rather shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Widgery, “their starting from Midhurst on the Chichester + road doesn't absolutely bind them not to change their minds.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow!—It does. Really it does. You must allow me to have + enough intelligence to think of cross-roads. Really you must. There aren't + any cross-roads to tempt them. Would they turn aside here? No. Would they + turn there? Many more things are inevitable than you fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see at once,” said Widgery, at the window. “Here comes Phipps. + For my own part—” + </p> + <p> + “Phipps!” said Mrs. Milton. “Is he hurrying? Does he look—” She rose + in her eagerness, biting her trembling lip, and went towards the window. + </p> + <p> + “No news,” said Phipps, entering. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Widgery. + </p> + <p> + “None?” said Dangle. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Phipps. “One fellow had got hold of a queer story of a man in + bicycling clothes, who was asking the same question about this time + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “What question?” said Mrs. Milton, in the shadow of the window. She spoke + in a low voice, almost a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Why—Have you seen a young lady in a grey bicycling costume?” + </p> + <p> + Dangle caught at his lower lip. “What's that?” he said. “Yesterday! A man + asking after her then! What can THAT mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven knows,” said Phipps, sitting down wearily. “You'd better infer.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of man?” said Dangle. + </p> + <p> + “How should I know?—in bicycling costume, the fellow said.” + </p> + <p> + “But what height?—What complexion?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't ask,” said Phipps. “DIDN'T ASK! Nonsense,” said Dangle. + </p> + <p> + “Ask him yourself,” said Phipps. “He's an ostler chap in the White Hart,—short, + thick-set fellow, with a red face and a crusty manner. Leaning up against + the stable door. Smells of whiskey. Go and ask him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Dangle, taking his straw hat from the shade over the + stuffed bird on the chiffonier and turning towards the door. “I might have + known.” + </p> + <p> + Phipps' mouth opened and shut. + </p> + <p> + “You're tired, I'm sure, Mr. Phipps,” said the lady, soothingly. “Let me + ring for some tea for you.” It suddenly occurred to Phipps that he had + lapsed a little from his chivalry. “I was a little annoyed at the way he + rushed me to do all this business,” he said. “But I'd do a hundred times + as much if it would bring you any nearer to her.” Pause. “I WOULD like a + little tea.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to raise any false hopes,” said Widgery. “But I do NOT + believe they even came to Chichester. Dangle's a very clever fellow, of + course, but sometimes these Inferences of his—” + </p> + <p> + “Tchak!” said Phipps, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Mrs. Milton. + </p> + <p> + “Something I've forgotten. I went right out from here, went to every other + hotel in the place, and never thought—But never mind. I'll ask when + the waiter comes.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean—” A tap, and the door opened. “Tea, m'm? yes, m'm,” + said the waiter. + </p> + <p> + “One minute,” said Phipps. “Was a lady in grey, a cycling lady—” + </p> + <p> + “Stopped here yesterday? Yessir. Stopped the night. With her brother, sir—a + young gent.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother!” said Mrs. Milton, in a low tone. “Thank God!” + </p> + <p> + The waiter glanced at her and understood everything. “A young gent, sir,” + he said, “very free with his money. Give the name of Beaumont.” He + proceeded to some rambling particulars, and was cross-examined by Widgery + on the plans of the young couple. + </p> + <p> + “Havant! Where's Havant?” said Phipps. “I seem to remember it somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Was the man tall?” said Mrs. Milton, intently, “distinguished looking? + with a long, flaxen moustache? and spoke with a drawl?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the waiter, and thought. “His moustache, m'm, was scarcely + long—scrubby more, and young looking.” + </p> + <p> + “About thirty-five, he was?” + </p> + <p> + “No, m'm. More like five and twenty. Not that.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” said Mrs. Milton, speaking in a curious, hollow voice, fumbling + for her salts, and showing the finest self-control. “It must have been her + YOUNGER brother—must have been.” + </p> + <p> + “That will do, thank you,” said Widgery, officiously, feeling that she + would be easier under this new surprise if the man were dismissed. The + waiter turned to go, and almost collided with Dangle, who was entering the + room, panting excitedly and with a pocket handkerchief held to his right + eye. “Hullo!” said dangle. “What's up?” + </p> + <p> + “What's up with YOU?” said Phipps. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—an altercation merely with that drunken ostler of yours. He + thought it was a plot to annoy him—that the Young Lady in Grey was + mythical. Judged from your manner. I've got a piece of raw meat to keep + over it. You have some news, I see?” + </p> + <p> + “Did the man hit you?” asked Widgery. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Milton rose and approached Dangle. “Cannot I do anything?” + </p> + <p> + Dangle was heroic. “Only tell me your news,” he said, round the corner of + the handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “It was in this way,” said Phipps, and explained rather sheepishly. While + he was doing so, with a running fire of commentary from Widgery, the + waiter brought in a tray of tea. “A time table,” said Dangle, promptly, + “for Havant.” Mrs. Milton poured two cups, and Phipps and Dangle partook + in passover form. They caught the train by a hair's breadth. So to Havant + and inquiries. + </p> + <p> + Dangle was puffed up to find that his guess of Havant was right. In view + of the fact that beyond Havant the Southampton road has a steep hill + continuously on the right-hand side, and the sea on the left, he hit upon + a magnificent scheme for heading the young folks off. He and Mrs. Milton + would go to Fareham, Widgery and Phipps should alight one each at the + intermediate stations of Cosham and Porchester, and come on by the next + train if they had no news. If they did not come on, a wire to the Fareham + post office was to explain why. It was Napoleonic, and more than consoled + Dangle for the open derision of the Havant street boys at the handkerchief + which still protected his damaged eye. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, the scheme answered to perfection. The fugitives escaped by a + hair's breadth. They were outside the Golden Anchor at Fareham, and + preparing to mount, as Mrs. Milton and Dangle came round the corner from + the station. “It's her!” said Mrs. Milton, and would have screamed. + “Hist!” said Dangle, gripping the lady's arm, removing his handkerchief in + his excitement, and leaving the piece of meat over his eye, an + extraordinary appearance which seemed unexpectedly to calm her. “Be cool!” + said Dangle, glaring under the meat. “They must not see us. They will get + away else. Were there flys at the station?” The young couple mounted and + vanished round the corner of the Winchester road. Had it not been for the + publicity of the business, Mrs. Milton would have fainted. “SAVE HER!” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! A conveyance,” said Dangle. “One minute.” + </p> + <p> + He left her in a most pathetic attitude, with her hand pressed to her + heart, and rushed into the Golden Anchor. Dog cart in ten minutes. + Emerged. The meat had gone now, and one saw the cooling puffiness over his + eye. “I will conduct you back to the station,” said Dangle; “hurry back + here, and pursue them. You will meet Widgery and Phipps and tell them I am + in pursuit.” + </p> + <p> + She was whirled back to the railway station and left there, on a hard, + blistered, wooden seat in the sun. She felt tired and dreadfully ruffled + and agitated and dusty. Dangle was, no doubt, most energetic and devoted; + but for a kindly, helpful manner commend her to Douglas Widgery. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Dangle, his face golden in the evening sun, was driving (as well + as he could) a large, black horse harnessed into a thing called a gig, + northwestward towards Winchester. Dangle, barring his swollen eye, was a + refined-looking little man, and he wore a deerstalker cap and was dressed + in dark grey. His neck was long and slender. Perhaps you know what gigs + are,—huge, big, wooden things and very high and the horse, too, was + huge and big and high, with knobby legs, a long face, a hard mouth, and a + whacking trick of pacing. Smack, smack, smack, smack it went along the + road, and hard by the church it shied vigorously at a hooded perambulator. + </p> + <p> + The history of the Rescue Expedition now becomes confused. It appears that + Widgery was extremely indignant to find Mrs. Milton left about upon the + Fareham platform. The day had irritated him somehow, though he had started + with the noblest intentions, and he seemed glad to find an outlet for + justifiable indignation. “He's such a spasmodic creature,” said Widgery. + “Rushing off! And I suppose we're to wait here until he comes back! It's + likely. He's so egotistical, is Dangle. Always wants to mismanage + everything himself.” + </p> + <p> + “He means to help me,” said Mrs. Milton, a little reproachfully, touching + his arm. Widgery was hardly in the mood to be mollified all at once. “He + need not prevent ME,” he said, and stopped. “It's no good talking, you + know, and you are tired.” + </p> + <p> + “I can go on,” she said brightly, “if only we find her.” “While I was + cooling my heels in Cosham I bought a county map.” He produced and opened + it. “Here, you see, is the road out of Fareham.” He proceeded with the + calm deliberation of a business man to develop a proposal of taking train + forthwith to Winchester. “They MUST be going to Winchester,” he explained. + It was inevitable. To-morrow Sunday, Winchester a cathedral town, road + going nowhere else of the slightest importance. + </p> + <p> + “But Mr. Dangle?” + </p> + <p> + “He will simply go on until he has to pass something, and then he will + break his neck. I have seen Dangle drive before. It's scarcely likely a + dog-cart, especially a hired dog-cart, will overtake bicycles in the cool + of the evening. Rely upon me, Mrs. Milton—” + </p> + <p> + “I am in your hands,” she said, with pathetic littleness, looking up at + him, and for the moment he forgot the exasperation of the day. + </p> + <p> + Phipps, during this conversation, had stood in a somewhat depressed + attitude, leaning on his stick, feeling his collar, and looking from one + speaker to the other. The idea of leaving Dangle behind seemed to him an + excellent one. “We might leave a message at the place where he got the + dog-cart,” he suggested, when he saw their eyes meeting. There was a + cheerful alacrity about all three at the proposal. + </p> + <p> + But they never got beyond Botley. For even as their train ran into the + station, a mighty rumbling was heard, there was a shouting overhead, the + guard stood astonished on the platform, and Phipps, thrusting his head out + of the window, cried, “There he goes!” and sprang out of the carriage. + Mrs. Milton, following in alarm, just saw it. From Widgery it was hidden. + Botley station lies in a cutting, overhead was the roadway, and across the + lemon yellows and flushed pinks of the sunset, there whirled a great black + mass, a horse like a long-nosed chess knight, the upper works of a gig, + and Dangle in transit from front to back. A monstrous shadow aped him + across the cutting. It was the event of a second. Dangle seemed to jump, + hang in the air momentarily, and vanish, and after a moment's pause came a + heart-rending smash. Then two black heads running swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “Better get out,” said Phipps to Mrs. Milton, who stood fascinated in the + doorway. + </p> + <p> + In another moment all three were hurrying up the steps. They found Dangle, + hatless, standing up with cut hands extended, having his hands brushed by + an officious small boy. A broad, ugly road ran downhill in a long vista, + and in the distance was a little group of Botley inhabitants holding the + big, black horse. Even at that distance they could see the expression of + conscious pride on the monster's visage. It was as wooden-faced a horse as + you can imagine. The beasts in the Tower of London, on which the men in + armour are perched, are the only horses I have ever seen at all like it. + However, we are not concerned now with the horse, but with Dangle. “Hurt?” + asked Phipps, eagerly, leading. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dangle!” cried Mrs. Milton, clasping her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said Dangle, not surprised in the slightest. “Glad you've come. I + may want you. Bit of a mess I'm in—eigh? But I've caught 'em. At the + very place I expected, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Caught them!” said Widgery. “Where are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Up there,” he said, with a backward motion of his head. “About a mile up + the hill. I left 'em. I HAD to.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” said Mrs. Milton, with that rapt, painful look + again. “Have you found Jessie?” + </p> + <p> + “I have. I wish I could wash the gravel out of my hands somewhere. It was + like this, you know. Came on them suddenly round a corner. Horse shied at + the bicycles. They were sitting by the roadside botanising flowers. I just + had time to shout, 'Jessie Milton, we've been looking for you,' and then + that confounded brute bolted. I didn't dare turn round. I had all my work + to do to save myself being turned over, as it was—so long as I did, + I mean. I just shouted, 'Return to your friends. All will be forgiven.' + And off I came, clatter, clatter. Whether they heard—” + </p> + <p> + “TAKE ME TO HER,” said Mrs. Milton, with intensity, turning towards + Widgery. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Widgery, suddenly becoming active. “How far is it, + Dangle?” + </p> + <p> + “Mile and a half or two miles. I was determined to find them, you know. I + say though—Look at my hands! But I beg your pardon, Mrs. Milton.” He + turned to Phipps. “Phipps, I say, where shall I wash the gravel out? And + have a look at my knee?” + </p> + <p> + “There's the station,” said Phipps, becoming helpful. Dangle made a step, + and a damaged knee became evident. “Take my arm,” said Phipps. + </p> + <p> + “Where can we get a conveyance?” asked Widgery of two small boys. + </p> + <p> + The two small boys failed to understand. They looked at one another. + </p> + <p> + “There's not a cab, not a go-cart, in sight,” said Widgery. “It's a case + of a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a harse all right,” said one of the small boys with a movement of + the head. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know where we can hire traps?” asked Widgery. “Or a cart or—anything?” + asked Mrs. Milton. + </p> + <p> + “John Ooker's gart a cart, but no one can't 'ire'n,” said the larger of + the small boys, partially averting his face and staring down the road and + making a song of it. “And so's my feyther, for's leg us broke.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a cart even! Evidently. What shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Mrs. Milton that if Widgery was the man for courtly + devotion, Dangle was infinitely readier of resource. “I suppose—” + she said, timidly. “Perhaps if you were to ask Mr. Dangle—” + </p> + <p> + And then all the gilt came off Widgery. He answered quite rudely. + “Confound Dangle! Hasn't he messed us up enough? He must needs drive after + them in a trap to tell them we're coming, and now you want me to ask him—” + </p> + <p> + Her beautiful blue eyes were filled with tears. He stopped abruptly. “I'll + go and ask Dangle,” he said, shortly. “If you wish it.” And went striding + into the station and down the steps, leaving her in the road under the + quiet inspection of the two little boys, and with a kind of ballad refrain + running through her head, “Where are the Knights of the Olden Time?” and + feeling tired to death and hungry and dusty and out of curl, and, in + short, a martyr woman. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI. + </h2> + <p> + It goes to my heart to tell of the end of that day, how the fugitives + vanished into Immensity; how there were no more trains how Botley stared + unsympathetically with a palpable disposition to derision, denying + conveyances how the landlord of the Heron was suspicious, how the next day + was Sunday, and the hot summer's day had crumpled the collar of Phipps and + stained the skirts of Mrs. Milton, and dimmed the radiant emotions of the + whole party. Dangle, with sticking-plaster and a black eye, felt the + absurdity of the pose of the Wounded Knight, and abandoned it after the + faintest efforts. Recriminations never, perhaps, held the foreground of + the talk, but they played like summer lightning on the edge of the + conversation. And deep in the hearts of all was a galling sense of the + ridiculous. Jessie, they thought, was most to blame. Apparently, too, the + worst, which would have made the whole business tragic, was not happening. + Here was a young woman—young woman do I say? a mere girl!—had + chosen to leave a comfortable home in Surbiton, and all the delights of a + refined and intellectual circle, and had rushed off, trailing us after + her, posing hard, mutually jealous, and now tired and weather-worn, to + flick us off at last, mere mud from her wheel, into this detestable + village beer-house on a Saturday night! And she had done it, not for Love + and Passion, which are serious excuses one may recognise even if one must + reprobate, but just for a Freak, just for a fantastic Idea; for nothing, + in fact, but the outraging of Common Sense. Yet withal, such was our + restraint, that we talked of her still as one much misguided, as one who + burthened us with anxiety, as a lamb astray, and Mrs. Milton having eaten, + continued to show the finest feelings on the matter. + </p> + <p> + She sat, I may mention, in the cushioned basket-chair, the only + comfortable chair in the room, and we sat on incredibly hard, horsehair + things having antimacassars tied to their backs by means of lemon-coloured + bows. It was different from those dear old talks at Surbiton, somehow. She + sat facing the window, which was open (the night was so tranquil and + warm), and the dim light—for we did not use the lamp—suited + her admirably. She talked in a voice that told you she was tired, and she + seemed inclined to state a case against herself in the matter of “A Soul + Untrammelled.” It was such an evening as might live in a sympathetic + memoir, but it was a little dull while it lasted. + </p> + <p> + “I feel,” she said, “that I am to blame. I have Developed. That first book + of mine—I do not go back upon a word of it, mind, but it has been + misunderstood, misapplied.” + </p> + <p> + “It has,” said Widgery, trying to look so deeply sympathetic as to be + visible in the dark. “Deliberately misunderstood.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that,” said the lady. “Not deliberately. I try and think that + critics are honest. After their lights. I was not thinking of critics. But + she—I mean—” She paused, an interrogation. + </p> + <p> + “It is possible,” said Dangle, scrutinising his sticking-plaster. + </p> + <p> + “I write a book and state a case. I want people to THINK as I recommend, + not to DO as I recommend. It is just Teaching. Only I make it into a + story. I want to Teach new Ideas, new Lessons, to promulgate Ideas. Then + when the Ideas have been spread abroad—Things will come about. Only + now it is madness to fly in the face of the established order. Bernard + Shaw, you know, has explained that with regard to Socialism. We all know + that to earn all you consume is right, and that living on invested capital + is wrong. Only we cannot begin while we are so few. It is Those Others.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Widgery. “It is Those Others. They must begin first.” + </p> + <p> + “And meanwhile you go on banking—” + </p> + <p> + “If I didn't, some one else would.” + </p> + <p> + “And I live on Mr. Milton's Lotion while I try to gain a footing in + Literature.” + </p> + <p> + “TRY!” said Phipps. “You HAVE done so.” And, “That's different,” said + Dangle, at the same time. + </p> + <p> + “You are so kind to me. But in this matter. Of course Georgina Griffiths + in my book lived alone in a flat in Paris and went to life classes and had + men visitors, but then she was over twenty-one.” + </p> + <p> + “Jessica is only seventeen, and girlish for that,” said Dangle. + </p> + <p> + “It alters everything. That child! It is different with a woman. And + Georgina Griffiths never flaunted her freedom—on a bicycle, in + country places. In this country. Where every one is so particular. Fancy, + SLEEPING away from home. It's dreadful—If it gets about it spells + ruin for her.” + </p> + <p> + “Ruin,” said Widgery. + </p> + <p> + “No man would marry a girl like that,” said Phipps. + </p> + <p> + “It must be hushed up,” said Dangle. + </p> + <p> + “It always seems to me that life is made up of individuals, of individual + cases. We must weigh each person against his or her circumstances. General + rules don't apply—” + </p> + <p> + “I often feel the force of that,” said Widgery. “Those are my rules. Of + course my books—” + </p> + <p> + “It's different, altogether different,” said Dangle. “A novel deals with + typical cases.” + </p> + <p> + “And life is not typical,” said Widgery, with immense profundity. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly, unintentionally, being himself most surprised and shocked + of any in the room, Phipps yawned. The failing was infectious, and the + gathering having, as you can easily understand, talked itself weary, + dispersed on trivial pretences. But not to sleep immediately. Directly + Dangle was alone he began, with infinite disgust, to scrutinise his + darkling eye, for he was a neat-minded little man in spite of his energy. + The whole business—so near a capture—was horribly vexatious. + Phipps sat on his bed for some time examining, with equal disgust, a + collar he would have thought incredible for Sunday twenty-four hours + before. Mrs. Milton fell a-musing on the mortality of even big, fat men + with dog-like eyes, and Widgery was unhappy because he had been so cross + to her at the station, and because so far he did not feel that he had + scored over Dangle. Also he was angry with Dangle. And all four of them, + being souls living very much upon the appearances of things, had a + painful, mental middle distance of Botley derisive and suspicious, and a + remoter background of London humorous, and Surbiton speculative. Were they + really, after all, behaving absurdly? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII. MR. HOOPDRIVER, KNIGHT ERRANT + </h2> + <p> + As Mr. Dangle bad witnessed, the fugitives had been left by him by the + side of the road about two miles from Botley. Before Mr. Dangle's + appearance, Mr. Hoopdriver had been learning with great interest that mere + roadside flowers had names,—star-flowers, wind-stars, St. John's + wort, willow herb, lords and ladies, bachelor's buttons,—most + curious names, some of them. “The flowers are all different in South + Africa, y'know,” he was explaining with a happy fluke of his imagination + to account for his ignorance. Then suddenly, heralded by clattering sounds + and a gride of wheels, Dangle had flared and thundered across the + tranquillity of the summer evening; Dangle, swaying and gesticulating + behind a corybantic black horse, had hailed Jessie by her name, had backed + towards the hedge for no ostensible reason, and vanished to the + accomplishment of the Fate that had been written down for him from the + very beginning of things. Jessie and Hoopdriver had scarcely time to stand + up and seize their machines, before this tumultuous, this swift and + wonderful passing of Dangle was achieved. He went from side to side of the + road,—worse even than the riding forth of Mr. Hoopdriver it was,—and + vanished round the corner. + </p> + <p> + “He knew my name,” said Jessie. “Yes—it was Mr. Dangle.” + </p> + <p> + “That was our bicycles did that,” said Mr. Hoopdriver simultaneously, and + speaking with a certain complacent concern. “I hope he won't get hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “That was Mr. Dangle,” repeated Jessie, and Mr. Hoopdriver heard this + time, with a violent start. His eyebrows went up spasmodically. + </p> + <p> + “What! someone you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “He was looking for me,” said Jessie. “I could see. He began to call to me + before the horse shied. My stepmother has sent him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver wished he had returned the bicycle after all, for his ideas + were still a little hazy about Bechamel and Mrs. Milton. Honesty IS the + best policy—often, he thought. He turned his head this way and that. + He became active. “After us, eigh? Then he'll come back. He's gone down + that hill, and he won't be able to pull up for a bit, I'm certain.” + </p> + <p> + Jessie, he saw, had wheeled her machine into the road and was mounting. + Still staring at the corner that had swallowed up Dangle, Hoopdriver + followed suit. And so, just as the sun was setting, they began another + flight together,—riding now towards Bishops Waltham, with Mr. + Hoopdriver in the post of danger—the rear—ever and again + looking over his shoulder and swerving dangerously as he did so. + Occasionally Jessie had to slacken her pace. He breathed heavily, and + hated himself because his mouth fell open, After nearly an hour's hard + riding, they found themselves uncaught at Winchester. Not a trace of + Dangle nor any other danger was visible as they rode into the dusky, + yellow-lit street. Though the bats had been fluttering behind thehedges + and the evening star was bright while they were still two miles from + Winchester, Mr. Hoopdriver pointed out the dangers of stopping in such an + obvious abiding-place, and gently but firmly insisted upon replenishing + the lamps and riding on towards Salisbury. From Winchester, roads branch + in every direction, and to turn abruptly westward was clearly the way to + throw off the chase. As Hoopdriver saw the moon rising broad and yellow + through the twilight, he thought he should revive the effect of that ride + out of Bognor; but somehow, albeit the moon and all the atmospheric + effects were the same, the emotions were different. They rode in absolute + silence, and slowly after they had cleared the outskirts of Winchester. + Both of them were now nearly tired out,—the level was tedious, and + even a little hill a burden; and so it came about that in the hamlet of + Wallenstock they were beguiled to stop and ask for accommodation in an + exceptionally prosperous-looking village inn. A plausible landlady rose to + the occasion. + </p> + <p> + Now, as they passed into the room where their suppers were prepared, Mr. + Hoopdriver caught a glimpse through a door ajar and floating in a reek of + smoke, of three and a half faces—for the edge of the door cut one + down—and an American cloth-covered table with several glasses and a + tankard. And he also heard a remark. In the second before he heard that + remark, Mr. Hoopdriver had been a proud and happy man, to particularize, a + baronet's heir incognito. He had surrendered their bicycles to the odd man + of the place with infinite easy dignity, and had bowingly opened the door + for Jessie. “Who's that, then?” he imagined people saying; and then, + “Some'n pretty well orf—judge by the bicycles.” Then the imaginary + spectators would fall a-talking of the fashionableness of bicycling,—how + judges And stockbrokers and actresses and, in fact, all the best people + rode, and how that it was often the fancy of such great folk to shun the + big hotels, the adulation of urban crowds, and seek, incognito, the cosy + quaintnesses of village life. Then, maybe, they would think of a certain + nameless air of distinction about the lady who had stepped across the + doorway, and about the handsome, flaxen-moustached, blue-eyed Cavalier who + had followed her in, and they would look one to another. “Tell you what it + is,” one of the village elders would say—just as they do in novels—voicing + the thought of all, in a low, impressive tone: “There's such a thin' as + entertaining barranets unawares—not to mention no higher things—” + </p> + <p> + Such, I say, had been the filmy, delightful stuff in Mr. Hoopdriver's head + the moment before he heard that remark. But the remark toppled him + headlong. What the precise remark was need not concern us. It was a casual + piece of such satire as Strephon delights in. Should you be curious, dear + lady, as to its nature, you have merely to dress yourself in a really + modern cycling costume, get one of the feeblest-looking of your men to + escort you, and ride out, next Saturday evening, to any public house where + healthy, homely people gather together. Then you will hear quite a lot of + the kind of thing Mr. Hoopdriver heard. More, possibly, than you will + desire. + </p> + <p> + The remark, I must add, implicated Mr. Hoopdriver. It indicated an entire + disbelief in his social standing. At a blow, it shattered all the gorgeous + imaginative fabric his mind had been rejoicing in. All that foolish + happiness vanished like a dream. And there was nothing to show for it, as + there is nothing to show for any spiteful remark that has ever been made. + Perhaps the man who said the thing had a gleam of satisfaction at the idea + of taking a complacent-looking fool down a peg, but it is just as possible + he did not know at the time that his stray shot had hit. He had thrown it + as a boy throws a stone at a bird. And it not only demolished a foolish, + happy conceit, but it wounded. It touched Jessie grossly. + </p> + <p> + She did not hear it, he concluded from her subsequent bearing; but during + the supper they had in the little private dining-room, though she talked + cheerfully, he was preoccupied. Whiffs of indistinct conversation, and now + and then laughter, came in from the inn parlor through the pelargoniums in + the open window. Hoopdriver felt it must all be in the same strain,—at + her expense and his. He answered her abstractedly. She was tired, she + said, and presently went to her room. Mr. Hoopdriver, in his courtly way, + opened the door for her and bowed her out. He stood listening and fearing + some new offence as she went upstairs, and round the bend where the + barometer hung beneath the stuffed birds. Then he went back to the room, + and stood on the hearthrug before the paper fireplace ornament. “Cads!” he + said in a scathing undertone, as a fresh burst of laughter came floating + in. All through supper he had been composing stinging repartee, a + blistering speech of denunciation to be presently delivered. He would rate + them as a nobleman should: “Call themselves Englishmen, indeed, and insult + a woman!” he would say; take the names and addresses perhaps, threaten to + speak to the Lord of the Manor, promise to let them hear from him again, + and so out with consternation in his wake. It really ought to be done. + </p> + <p> + “Teach 'em better,” he said fiercely, and tweaked his moustache painfully. + What was it? He revived the objectionable remark for his own exasperation, + and then went over the heads of his speech again. + </p> + <p> + He coughed, made three steps towards the door, then stopped and went back + to the hearthrug. He wouldn't—after all. Yet was he not a Knight + Errant? Should such men go unreproved, unchecked, by wandering baronets + incognito? Magnanimity? Look at it in that way? Churls beneath one's + notice? No; merely a cowardly subterfuge. He WOULD after all. + </p> + <p> + Something within him protested that he was a hot-headed ass even as he + went towards the door again. But he only went on the more resolutely. He + crossed the hall, by the bar, and entered the room from which the remark + had proceeded. He opened the door abruptly and stood scowling on them in + the doorway. “You'll only make a mess of it,” remarked the internal + sceptic. There were five men in the room altogether: a fat person, with a + long pipe and a great number of chins, in an armchair by the fireplace, + who wished Mr. Hoopdriver a good evening very affably; a young fellow + smoking a cutty and displaying crossed legs with gaiters; a little, + bearded man with a toothless laugh; a middle-aged, comfortable man with + bright eyes, who wore a velveteen jacket; and a fair young man, very + genteel in a yellowish-brown ready-made suit and a white tie. + </p> + <p> + “H'm,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, looking very stern and harsh. And then in a + forbidding tone, as one who consented to no liberties, “Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Very pleasant day we've been 'aving,” said the fair young man with the + white tie. + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, slowly; and taking a brown armchair, he + planted it with great deliberation where he faced the fireplace, and sat + down. Let's see—how did that speech begin? + </p> + <p> + “Very pleasant roads about here,” said the fair young man with the white + tie. + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, eyeing him darkly. Have to begin somehow. + “The roads about here are all right, and the weather about here is all + right, but what I've come in here to say is—there's some damned + unpleasant people—damned unpleasant people!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the young man with the gaiters, apparently making a mental + inventory of his pearl buttons as he spoke. “How's that?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver put his hands on his knees and stuck out his elbows with + extreme angularity. In his heart he was raving at his idiotic folly at + thus bearding these lions,—indisputably they WERE lions,—but + he had to go through with it now. Heaven send, his breath, which was + already getting a trifle spasmodic, did not suddenly give out. He fixed + his eye on the face of the fat man with the chins, and spoke in a low, + impressive voice. “I came here, sir,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, and paused to + inflate his cheeks, “with a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Very nice lady,” said the man with the gaiters, putting his head on one + side to admire a pearl button that had been hiding behind the curvature of + his calf. “Very nice lady indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “I came here,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, “with a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “We saw you did, bless you,” said the fat man with the chins, in a curious + wheezy voice. “I don't see there's anything so very extraordinary in that. + One 'ud think we hadn't eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver coughed. “I came, here, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “We've 'eard that,” said the little man with the beard, sharply and went + off into an amiable chuckle. “We know it by 'art,” said the little man, + elaborating the point. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver temporarily lost his thread. He glared malignantly at the + little man with the beard, and tried to recover his discourse. A pause. + </p> + <p> + “You were saying,” said the fair young man with the white tie, speaking + very politely, “that you came here with a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “A lady,” meditated the gaiter gazer. + </p> + <p> + The man in velveteen, who was looking from one speaker to another with + keen, bright eyes, now laughed as though a point had been scored, and + stimulated Mr. Hoopdriver to speak, by fixing him with an expectant + regard. + </p> + <p> + “Some dirty cad,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, proceeding with his discourse, and + suddenly growing extremely fierce, “made a remark as we went by this + door.” + </p> + <p> + “Steady on!” said the old gentleman with many chins. “Steady on! Don't you + go a-calling us names, please.” + </p> + <p> + “One minute!” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “It wasn't I began calling names.” + (“Who did?” said the man with the chins.) “I'm not calling any of you + dirty cads. Don't run away with that impression. Only some person in this + room made a remark that showed he wasn't fit to wipe boots on, and, with + all due deference to such gentlemen as ARE gentlemen” (Mr. Hoopdriver + looked round for moral support), “I want to know which it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Meanin'?” said the fair young man in the white tie. + </p> + <p> + “That I'm going to wipe my boots on 'im straight away,” said Mr. + Hoopdriver, reverting to anger, if with a slight catch in his throat—than + which threat of personal violence nothing had been further from his + thoughts on entering the room. He said this because he could think of + nothing else to say, and stuck out his elbows truculently to hide the + sinking of his heart. It is curious how situations run away with us. + </p> + <p> + “'Ullo, Charlie!” said the little man, and “My eye!” said the owner of the + chins. “You're going to wipe your boots on 'im?” said the fair young man, + in a tone of mild surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, with emphatic resolution, and glared in the + young man's face. + </p> + <p> + “That's fair and reasonable,” said the man in the velveteen jacket; “if + you can.” + </p> + <p> + The interest of the meeting seemed transferred to the young man in the + white tic. “Of course, if you can't find out which it is, I suppose you're + prepared to wipe your boots in a liberal way on everybody in the room,” + said this young man, in the same tone of impersonal question. “This + gentleman, the champion lightweight—” + </p> + <p> + “Own up, Charlie,” said the young man with the gaiters, looking up for a + moment. “And don't go a-dragging in your betters. It's fair and square. + You can't get out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it this—gent?” began Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the young man in the white tie, “when it comes to + talking of wiping boots—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not talking; I'm going to do it,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + He looked round at the meeting. They were no longer antagonists; they were + spectators. He would have to go through with it now. But this tone of + personal aggression on the maker of the remark had somehow got rid of the + oppressive feeling of Hoopdriver contra mundum. Apparently, he would have + to fight someone. Would he get a black eye? Would he get very much hurt? + Pray goodness it wasn't that sturdy chap in the gaiters! Should he rise + and begin? What would she think if he brought a black eye to breakfast + to-morrow? “Is this the man?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a business-like + calm, and arms more angular than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Eat 'im!” said the little man with the beard; “eat 'im straight orf.” + </p> + <p> + “Steady on!” said the young man in the white tie. “Steady on a minute. If + I did happen to say—” + </p> + <p> + “You did, did you?” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Backing out of it, Charlie?” said the young man with the gaiters. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit,” said Charlie. “Surely we can pass a bit of a joke—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to teach you to keep your jokes to yourself,” said Mr. + Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Bray-vo!” said the shepherd of the flock of chins. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie IS a bit too free with his jokes,” said the little man with the + beard. + </p> + <p> + “It's downright disgusting,” said Hoopdriver, falling back upon his + speech. “A lady can't ride a bicycle in a country road, or wear a dress a + little out of the ordinary, but every dirty little greaser must needs go + shouting insults—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> didn't know the young lady would hear what I said,” said + Charlie. “Surely one can speak friendly to one's friends. How was I to + know the door was open—” + </p> + <p> + Hoopdriver began to suspect that his antagonist was, if possible, more + seriously alarmed at the prospect of violence than himself, and his + spirits rose again. These chaps ought to have a thorough lesson. “Of + COURSE you knew the door was open,” he retorted indignantly. “Of COURSE + you thought we should hear what you said. Don't go telling lies about it. + It's no good your saying things like that. You've had your fun, and you + meant to have your fun. And I mean to make an example of you, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ginger beer,” said the little man with the beard, in a confidential tone + to the velveteen jacket, “is regular up this 'ot weather. Bustin' its + bottles it is everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of scrapping about in a public-house?” said Charlie, + appealing to the company. “A fair fight without interruptions, now, I + WOULDN'T mind, if the gentleman's so disposed.” + </p> + <p> + Evidently the man was horribly afraid. Mr. Hoopdriver grew truculent. + </p> + <p> + “Where you like,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, “jest wherever you like.” + </p> + <p> + “You insulted the gent,” said the man in velveteen. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a bloomin' funk, Charlie,” said the man in gaiters. “Why, you + got a stone of him, if you got an ounce.” + </p> + <p> + “What I say, is this,” said the gentleman with the excessive chins, trying + to get a hearing by banging his chair arms. “If Charlie goes saying + things, he ought to back 'em up. That's what I say. I don't mind his + sayin' such things 't all, but he ought to be prepared to back 'em up.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll BACK 'em up all right,” said Charlie, with extremely bitter emphasis + on 'back.' “If the gentleman likes to come Toosday week—” + </p> + <p> + “Rot!” chopped in Hoopdriver. “Now.” + </p> + <p> + “'Ear, 'ear,” said the owner of the chins. + </p> + <p> + “Never put off till to-morrow, Charlie, what you can do to-day,” said the + man in the velveteen coat. + </p> + <p> + “You got to do it, Charlie,” said the man in gaiters. “It's no good.” + </p> + <p> + “It's like this,” said Charlie, appealing to everyone except Hoopdriver. + “Here's me, got to take in her ladyship's dinner to-morrow night. How + should I look with a black eye? And going round with the carriage with a + split lip?” + </p> + <p> + “If you don't want your face sp'iled, Charlie, why don't you keep your + mouth shut?” said the person in gaiters. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, driving it home with great fierceness. + “Why don't you shut your ugly mouth?” + </p> + <p> + “It's as much as my situation's worth,” protested Charlie. + </p> + <p> + “You should have thought of that before,” said Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “There's no occasion to be so thunderin' 'ot about it. I only meant the + thing joking,” said Charlie. “AS one gentleman to another, I'm very sorry + if the gentleman's annoyed—” + </p> + <p> + Everybody began to speak at once. Mr. Hoopdriver twirled his moustache. He + felt that Charlie's recognition of his gentlemanliness was at any rate a + redeeming feature. But it became his pose to ride hard and heavy over the + routed foe. He shouted some insulting phrase over the tumult. + </p> + <p> + “You're regular abject,” the man in gaiters was saying to Charlie. + </p> + <p> + More confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Only don't think I'm afraid,—not of a spindle-legged cuss like + him,” shouted Charlie. “Because I ain't.” + </p> + <p> + “Change of front,” thought Hoopdriver, a little startled. “Where are we + going?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't sit there and be abusive,” said the man in velveteen. “He's offered + to hit you, and if I was him, I'd hit you now.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, then,” said Charlie, with a sudden change of front and + springing to his feet. “If I must, I must. Now, then!” At that, + Hoopdriver, the child of Fate, rose too, with a horrible sense that his + internal monitor was right. Things had taken a turn. He had made a mess of + it, and now there was nothing for it, so far as he could see, but to hit + the man at once. He and Charlie stood six feet apart, with a table + between, both very breathless and fierce. A vulgar fight in a + public-house, and with what was only too palpably a footman! Good Heavens! + And this was the dignified, scornful remonstrance! How the juice had it + all happened? Go round the table at him, I suppose. But before the brawl + could achieve itself, the man in gaiters intervened. “Not here,” he said, + stepping between the antagonists. Everyone was standing up. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie's artful,” said the little man with the beard. + </p> + <p> + “Buller's yard,” said the man with the gaiters, taking the control of the + entire affair with the easy readiness of an accomplished practitioner. “If + the gentleman DON'T mind.” Buller's yard, it seemed, was the very place. + “We'll do the thing regular and decent, if you please.” And before he + completely realized what was happening, Hoopdriver was being marched out + through the back premises of the inn, to the first and only fight with + fists that was ever to glorify his life. + </p> + <p> + Outwardly, so far as the intermittent moonlight showed, Mr. Hoopdriver was + quietly but eagerly prepared to fight. But inwardly he was a chaos of + conflicting purposes. It was extraordinary how things happened. One remark + had trod so closely on the heels of another, that he had had the greatest + difficulty in following the development of the business. He distinctly + remembered himself walking across from one room to the other,—a + dignified, even an aristocratic figure, primed with considered eloquence, + intent upon a scathing remonstrance to these wretched yokels, regarding + their manners. Then incident had flickered into incident until here he was + out in a moonlit lane,—a slight, dark figure in a group of larger, + indistinct figures,—marching in a quiet, business-like way towards + some unknown horror at Buller's yard. Fists! It was astonishing. It was + terrible! In front of him was the pallid figure of Charles, and he saw + that the man in gaiters held Charles kindly but firmly by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “It's blasted rot,” Charles was saying, “getting up a fight just for a + thing like that; all very well for 'im. 'E's got 'is 'olidays; 'e 'asn't + no blessed dinner to take up to-morrow night like I 'ave.—No need to + numb my arm, IS there?” + </p> + <p> + They went into Buller's yard through gates. There were sheds in Buller's + yard—sheds of mystery that the moonlight could not solve—a + smell of cows, and a pump stood out clear and black, throwing a clear + black shadow on the whitewashed wall. And here it was his face was to be + battered to a pulp. He knew this was the uttermost folly, to stand up here + and be pounded, but the way out of it was beyond his imagining. Yet + afterwards—? Could he ever face her again? He patted his Norfolk + jacket and took his ground with his back to the gate. How did one square? + So? Suppose one were to turn and run even now, run straight back to the + inn and lock himself into his bedroom? They couldn't make, him come out—anyhow. + He could prosecute them for assault if they did. How did one set about + prosecuting for assault? He saw Charles, with his face ghastly white under + the moon, squaring in front of him. + </p> + <p> + He caught a blow on the arm and gave ground. Charles pressed him. Then he + hit with his right and with the violence of despair. It was a hit of his + own devising,—an impromptu,—but it chanced to coincide with + the regulation hook hit at the head. He perceived with a leap of + exultation that the thing his fist had met was the jawbone of Charles. It + was the sole gleam of pleasure he experienced during the fight, and it was + quite momentary. He had hardly got home upon Charles before he was struck + in the chest and whirled backward. He had the greatest difficulty in + keeping his feet. He felt that his heart was smashed flat. “Gord darm!” + said somebody, dancing toe in hand somewhere behind him. As Mr. Hoopdriver + staggered, Charles gave a loud and fear-compelling cry. He seemed to tower + over Hoopdriver in the moonlight. Both his fists were whirling. It was + annihilation coming—no less. Mr. Hoopdriver ducked perhaps and + certainly gave ground to the right, hit, and missed. Charles swept round + to the left, missing generously. A blow glanced over Mr. Hoopdriver's left + ear, and the flanking movement was completed. Another blow behind the ear. + Heaven and earth spun furiously round Mr. Hoopdriver, and then he became + aware of a figure in a light suit shooting violently through an open gate + into the night. The man in gaiters sprang forward past Mr. Hoopdriver, but + too late to intercept the fugitive. There were shouts, laughter, and Mr. + Hoopdriver, still solemnly squaring, realized the great and wonderful + truth—Charles had fled. He, Hoopdriver, had fought and, by all the + rules of war, had won. + </p> + <p> + “That was a pretty cut under the jaw you gave him,” the toothless little + man with the beard was remarking in an unexpectedly friendly manner. + </p> + <p> + “The fact of it is,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, sitting beside the road to + Salisbury, and with the sound of distant church bells in his cars, “I had + to give the fellow a lesson; simply had to.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems so dreadful that you should have to knock people about,” said + Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “These louts get unbearable,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “If now and then we + didn't give them a lesson,—well, a lady cyclist in the roads would + be an impossibility.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose every woman shrinks from violence,” said Jessie. “I suppose men + ARE braver—in a way—than women. It seems to me-I can't imagine—how + one could bring oneself to face a roomful of rough characters, pick out + the bravest, and give him an exemplary thrashing. I quail at the idea. I + thought only Ouida's guardsmen did things like that.” + </p> + <p> + “It was nothing more than my juty—as a gentleman,” said Mr. + Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “But to walk straight into the face of danger!” + </p> + <p> + “It's habit,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, quite modestly, flicking off a particle + of cigarette ash that had settled on his knee. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII. THE ABASEMENT OF MR. HOOPDRIVER + </h2> + <p> + On Monday morning the two fugitives found themselves breakfasting at the + Golden Pheasant in Blandford. They were in the course of an elaborate + doubling movement through Dorsetshire towards Ringwood, where Jessie + anticipated an answer from her schoolmistress friend. By this time they + had been nearly sixty hours together, and you will understand that Mr. + Hoopdriver's feelings had undergone a considerable intensification and + development. At first Jessie had been only an impressionist sketch upon + his mind, something feminine, active, and dazzling, something emphatically + “above” him, cast into his company by a kindly fate. His chief idea, at + the outset, as you know, had been to live up to her level, by pretending + to be more exceptional, more wealthy, better educated, and, above all, + better born than he was. His knowledge of the feminine mind was almost + entirely derived from the young ladies he had met in business, and in that + class (as in military society and among gentlemen's servants) the good old + tradition of a brutal social exclusiveness is still religiously preserved. + He had an almost intolerable dread of her thinking him a I bounder.' Later + he began to perceive the distinction of her idiosyncracies. Coupled with a + magnificent want of experience was a splendid enthusiasm for abstract + views of the most advanced description, and her strength of conviction + completely carried Hoopdriver away. She was going to Live her Own Life, + with emphasis, and Mr. Hoopdriver was profoundly stirred to similar + resolves. So soon as he grasped the tenor of her views, he perceived that + he himself had thought as much from his earliest years. “Of course,” he + remarked, in a flash of sexual pride, “a man is freer than a woman. End in + the Colonies, y'know, there isn't half the Conventionality you find in + society in this country.” + </p> + <p> + He made one or two essays in the display of unconventionality, and was + quite unaware that he impressed her as a narrow-minded person. He + suppressed the habits of years and made no proposal to go to church. He + discussed church-going in a liberal spirit. “It's jest a habit,” he said, + “jest a custom. I don't see what good it does you at all, really.” And he + made a lot of excellent jokes at the chimney-pot hat, jokes he had read in + the Globe 'turnovers' on that subject. But he showed his gentle breeding + by keeping his gloves on all through the Sunday's ride, and ostentatiously + throwing away more than half a cigarette when they passed a church whose + congregation was gathering for afternoon service. He cautiously avoided + literary topics, except by way of compliment, seeing that she was + presently to be writing books. + </p> + <p> + It was on Jessie's initiative that they attended service in the + old-fashioned gallery of Blandford church. Jessie's conscience, I may + perhaps tell you, was now suffering the severest twinges. She perceived + clearly that things were not working out quite along the lines she had + designed-. She had read her Olive Schreiner and George Egerton, and so + forth, with all the want of perfect comprehension of one who is still + emotionally a girl. She knew the thing to do was to have a flat and to go + to the British Museum and write leading articles for the daily papers + until something better came along. If Bechamel (detestable person) had + kept his promises, instead of behaving with unspeakable horridness, all + would have been well. Now her only hope was that liberal-minded woman, + Miss Mergle, who, a year ago, had sent her out, highly educated, into the + world. Miss Mergle had told her at parting to live fearlessly and truly, + and had further given her a volume of Emerson's Essays and Motley's “Dutch + Republic,” to help her through the rapids of adolescence. + </p> + <p> + Jessie's feelings for her stepmother's household at Surbiton amounted to + an active detestation. There are no graver or more solemn women in the + world than these clever girls whose scholastic advancement has retarded + their feminine coquetry. In spite of the advanced tone of 'Thomas + Plantagenet's' antimarital novel, Jessie had speedily seen through that + amiable woman's amiable defences. The variety of pose necessitated by the + corps of 'Men' annoyed her to an altogether unreasonable degree. To return + to this life of ridiculous unreality—unconditional capitulation to + 'Conventionality' was an exasperating prospect. Yet what else was there to + do? You will understand, therefore, that at times she was moody (and Mr. + Hoopdriver respectfully silent and attentive) and at times inclined to + eloquent denunciation of the existing order of things. She was a + Socialist, Hoopdriver learnt, and he gave a vague intimation that he went + further, intending, thereby, no less than the horrors of anarchism. He + would have owned up to the destruction of the Winter Palace indeed, had he + had the faintest idea where the Winter Palace was, and had his assurance + amounted to certainty that the Winter Palace was destroyed. He agreed with + her cordially that the position of women was intolerable, but checked + himself on the' verge of the proposition that a girl ought not to expect a + fellow to hand down boxes for her when he was getting the 'swap' from a + customer. It was Jessie's preoccupation with her own perplexities, no + doubt, that delayed the unveiling of Mr. Hoopdriver all through Saturday + and Sunday. Once or twice, however, there were incidents that put him + about terribly—even questions that savoured of suspicion. + </p> + <p> + On Sunday night, for no conceivable reason, an unwonted wakefulness came + upon him. Unaccountably he realised he was a contemptible liar, All + through the small hours of Monday he reviewed the tale of his falsehoods, + and when he tried to turn his mind from that, the financial problem + suddenly rose upon him. He heard two o'clock strike, and three. It is odd + how unhappy some of us are at times, when we are at our happiest. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV. + </h2> + <p> + “Good morning, Madam,” said Hoopdriver, as Jessie came into the breakfast + room of the Golden Pheasant on Monday morning, and he smiled, bowed, + rubbed his hands together, and pulled out a chair for her, and rubbed his + hands again. + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly, with a puzzled expression on her face. “Where HAVE I + seen that before?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “The chair?” said Hoopdriver, flushing. + </p> + <p> + “No—the attitude.” + </p> + <p> + She came forward and shook hands with him, looking the while curiously + into his face. “And—Madam?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a habit,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, guiltily. “A bad habit. Calling + ladies Madam. You must put it down to our colonial roughness. Out there up + country—y'know—the ladies—so rare—we call 'em all + Madam.” + </p> + <p> + “You HAVE some funny habits, brother Chris,” said Jessie. “Before you sell + your diamond shares and go into society, as you say, and stand for + Parliament—What a fine thing it is to be a man!—you must cure + yourself. That habit of bowing as you do, and rubbing your hands, and + looking expectant.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a habit.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But I don't think it a good one. You don't mind my telling you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit. I'm grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm blessed or afflicted with a trick of observation,” said Jessie, + looking at the breakfast table. Mr. Hoopdriver put his hand to his + moustache and then, thinking this might be another habit, checked his arm + and stuck his hand into his pocket. He felt juiced awkward, to use his + private formula. Jessie's eye wandered to the armchair, where a piece of + binding was loose, and, possibly to carry out her theory of an observant + disposition, she turned and asked him for a pin. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver's hand fluttered instinctively to his lappel, and there, + planted by habit, were a couple of stray pins he had impounded. + </p> + <p> + “What an odd place to put pins!” exclaimed Jessie, taking it. + </p> + <p> + “It's 'andy,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “I saw a chap in a shop do it once.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have a careful disposition,” she said, over her shoulder, + kneeling down to the chair. + </p> + <p> + “In the centre of Africa—up country, that is—one learns to + value pins,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, after a perceptible pause. “There + weren't over many pins in Africa. They don't lie about on the ground + there.” His face was now in a fine, red glow. Where would the draper break + out next? He thrust his hands into his coat pockets, then took one out + again, furtively removed the second pin and dropped it behind him gently. + It fell with a loud 'ping' on the fender. Happily she made no remark, + being preoccupied with the binding of the chair. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver, instead of sitting down, went up to the table and stood + against it, with his finger-tips upon the cloth. They were keeping + breakfast a tremendous time. He took up his rolled serviette looked + closely and scrutinisingly at the ring, then put his hand under the fold + of the napkin and examined the texture, and put the thing down again. Then + he had a vague impulse to finger his hollow wisdom tooth—happily + checked. He suddenly discovered he was standing as if the table was a + counter, and sat down forthwith. He drummed with his hand on the table. He + felt dreadfully hot and self-conscious. + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast is late,” said Jessie, standing up. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Conversation was slack. Jessie wanted to know the distance to Ringwood. + Then silence fell again. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver, very uncomfortable and studying an easy bearing, looked + again at the breakfast things and then idly lifted the corner of the + tablecloth on the ends of his fingers, and regarded it. “Fifteen three,” + he thought, privately. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you do that?” said Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” said Hoopdriver, dropping the tablecloth convulsively. + </p> + <p> + “Look at the cloth like that. I saw you do it yesterday, too.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver's face became quite a bright red. He began pulling his + moustache nervously. “I know,” he said. “I know. It's a queer habit, I + know. But out there, you know, there's native servants, you know, and—it's + a queer thing to talk about—but one has to look at things to see, + don't y'know, whether they're quite clean or not. It's got to be a habit.” + </p> + <p> + “How odd!” said Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it?” mumbled Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “If I were a Sherlock Holmes,” said Jessie, “I suppose I could have told + you were a colonial from little things like that. But anyhow, I guessed + it, didn't I?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hoopdriver, in a melancholy tone, “you guessed it.” + </p> + <p> + Why not seize the opportunity for a neat confession, and add, “unhappily + in this case you guessed wrong.” Did she suspect? Then, at the + psychological moment, the girl bumped the door open with her tray and + brought in the coffee and scrambled eggs. + </p> + <p> + “I am rather lucky with my intuitions, sometimes,” said Jessie. + </p> + <p> + Remorse that had been accumulating in his mind for two days surged to the + top of his mind. What a shabby liar he was! + </p> + <p> + And, besides, he must sooner or later, inevitably, give himself away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver helped the eggs and then, instead of beginning, sat with + his cheek on his hand, watching Jessie pour out the coffee. His ears were + a bright red, and his eyes bright. He took his coffee cup clumsily, + cleared his throat, suddenly leant back in his chair, and thrust his hands + deep into his pockets. “I'll do it,” he said aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” said Jessie, looking up in surprise over the coffee pot. She + was just beginning her scrambled egg. + </p> + <p> + “Own up.” + </p> + <p> + “Own what?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Milton—I'm a liar.” He put his head on one side and regarded + her with a frown of tremendous resolution. Then in measured accents, and + moving his head slowly from side to side, he announced, “Ay'm a deraper.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a draper? I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “You thought wrong. But it's bound to come up. Pins, attitude, habits—It's + plain enough. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a draper's assistant let out for a ten-days holiday. Jest a draper's + assistant. Not much, is it? A counter-jumper.” + </p> + <p> + “A draper's assistant isn't a position to be ashamed of,” she said, + recovering, and not quite understanding yet what this all meant. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is,” he said, “for a man, in this country now. To be just another + man's hand, as I am. To have to wear what clothes you are told, and go to + church to please customers, and work—There's no other kind of men + stand such hours. A drunken bricklayer's a king to it.” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you telling me this now?” + </p> + <p> + “It's important you should know at once.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Mr. Benson—” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't all. If you don't mind my speaking about myself a bit, there's + a few things I'd like to tell you. I can't go on deceiving you. My name's + not Benson. WHY I told you Benson, I DON'T know. Except that I'm a kind of + fool. Well—I wanted somehow to seem more than I was. My name's + Hoopdriver.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “And that about South Africa—and that lion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Lies.” + </p> + <p> + “Lies!” + </p> + <p> + “And the discovery of diamonds on the ostrich farm. Lies too. And all the + reminiscences of the giraffes—lies too. I never rode on no giraffes. + I'd be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with a kind of sullen satisfaction. He had eased his + conscience, anyhow. She regarded him in infinite perplexity. This was a + new side altogether to the man. “But WHY,” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Why did I tell you such things? <i>I</i> don't know. Silly sort of chap, + I expect. I suppose I wanted to impress you. But somehow, now, I want you + to know the truth.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. Breakfast untouched. “I thought I'd tell you,” said Mr. + Hoopdriver. “I suppose it's snobbishness and all that kind of thing, as + much as anything. I lay awake pretty near all last night thinking about + myself; thinking what a got-up imitation of a man I was, and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “And you haven't any diamond shares, and you are not going into + Parliament, and you're not—” + </p> + <p> + “All Lies,” said Hoopdriver, in a sepulchral voice. “Lies from beginning + to end. 'Ow I came to tell 'em I DON'T know.” + </p> + <p> + She stared at him blankly. + </p> + <p> + “I never set eyes on Africa in my life,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, completing + the confession. Then he pulled his right hand from his pocket, and with + the nonchalance of one to whom the bitterness of death is passed, began to + drink his coffee. + </p> + <p> + “It's a little surprising,” began Jessie, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “Think it over,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “I'm sorry from the bottom of my + heart.” + </p> + <p> + And then breakfast proceeded in silence. Jessie ate very little, and + seemed lost in thought. Mr. Hoopdriver was so overcome by contrition and + anxiety that he consumed an extraordinarily large breakfast out of pure + nervousness, and ate his scrambled eggs for the most part with the spoon + that belonged properly to the marmalade. His eyes were gloomily downcast. + She glanced at him through her eyelashes. Once or twice she struggled with + laughter, once or twice she seemed to be indignant. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what to think,” she said at last. “I don't know what to make + of you—brother Chris. I thought, do you know? that you were + perfectly honest. And somehow—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so still.” + </p> + <p> + “Honest—with all those lies!” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “I'm fair ashamed of myself. But anyhow—I've + stopped deceiving you.” + </p> + <p> + “I THOUGHT,” said the Young Lady in Grey, “that story of the lion—” + </p> + <p> + “Lord!” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “Don't remind me of THAT.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought, somehow, I FELT, that the things you said didn't ring quite + true.” She suddenly broke out in laughter, at the expression of his face. + “Of COURSE you are honest,” she said. “How could I ever doubt it? As if <i>I</i> + had never pretended! I see it all now.” + </p> + <p> + Abruptly she rose, and extended her hand across the breakfast things. He + looked at her doubtfully, and saw the dancing friendliness in her eyes. He + scarcely understood at first. He rose, holding the marmalade spoon, and + took her proffered hand with abject humility. “Lord,” he broke out, “if + you aren't enough—but there!” + </p> + <p> + “I see it all now.” A brilliant inspiration had suddenly obscured her + humour. She sat down suddenly, and he sat down too. “You did it,” she + said, “because you wanted to help me. And you thought I was too + Conventional to take help from one I might think my social inferior.” + </p> + <p> + “That was partly it,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “How you misunderstood me!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mind?” + </p> + <p> + “It was noble of you. But I am sorry,” she said, “you should think me + likely to be ashamed of you because you follow a decent trade.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know at first, you see,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + And he submitted meekly to a restoration of his self-respect. He was as + useful a citizen as could be,—it was proposed and carried,—and + his lying was of the noblest. And so the breakfast concluded much more + happily than his brightest expectation, and they rode out of ruddy little + Blandford as though no shadow of any sort had come between them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVI. + </h2> + <p> + As they were sitting by the roadside among the pine trees half-way up a + stretch of hill between Wimborne and Ringwood, however, Mr. Hoopdriver + reopened the question of his worldly position. + </p> + <p> + “Ju think,” he began abruptly, removing a meditative cigarette from his + mouth, “that a draper's shopman IS a decent citizen?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “When he puts people off with what they don't quite want, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “Need he do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Salesmanship,” said Hoopdriver. “Wouldn't get a crib if he didn't.—It's + no good your arguing. It's not a particularly honest nor a particularly + useful trade; it's not very high up; there's no freedom and no leisure—seven + to eight-thirty every day in the week; don't leave much edge to live on, + does it?—real workmen laugh at us and educated chaps like bank + clerks and solicitors' clerks look down on us. You look respectable + outside, and inside you are packed in dormitories like convicts, fed on + bread and butter and bullied like slaves. You're just superior enough to + feel that you're not superior. Without capital there's no prospects; one + draper in a hundred don't even earn enough to marry on; and if he DOES + marry, his G.V. can just use him to black boots if he likes, and he + daren't put his back up. That's drapery! And you tell me to be contented. + Would YOU be contented if you was a shop girl?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. She looked at him with distress in her brown eyes, and + he remained gloomily in possession of the field. + </p> + <p> + Presently he spoke. “I've been thinking,” he said, and stopped. + </p> + <p> + She turned her face, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. There was + a light in her eyes that made the expression of them tender. Mr. + Hoopdriver had not looked in her face while he had talked. He had regarded + the grass, and pointed his remarks with redknuckled hands held open and + palms upwards. Now they hung limply over his knees. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking it this morning,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it's silly.” “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “It's like this. I'm twenty-three, about. I had my schooling all right to + fifteen, say. Well, that leaves me eight years behind.—Is it too + late? I wasn't so backward. I did algebra, and Latin up to auxiliary + verbs, and French genders. I got a kind of grounding.” + </p> + <p> + “And now you mean, should you go on working?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “That's it. You can't do much at drapery + without capital, you know. But if I could get really educated. I've + thought sometimes...” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said the Young Lady in Grey. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver was surprised to see it in that light. “You think?” he + said. “Of course. You are a Man. You are free—” She warmed. “I wish + I were you to have the chance of that struggle.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I Man ENOUGH?” said Mr. Hoopdriver aloud, but addressing himself. + “There's that eight years,” he said to her. + </p> + <p> + “You can make it up. What you call educated men—They're not going + on. You can catch them. They are quite satisfied. Playing golf, and + thinking of clever things to say to women like my stepmother, and dining + out. You're in front of them already in one thing. They think they know + everything. You don't. And they know such little things.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord!” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “How you encourage a fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “If I could only help you,” she said, and left an eloquent hiatus. He + became pensive again. + </p> + <p> + “It's pretty evident you don't think much of a draper,” he said abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Another interval. “Hundreds of men,” she said, “have come from the very + lowest ranks of life. There was Burns, a ploughman; and Hugh Miller, a + stonemason; and plenty of others. Dodsley was a footman—” + </p> + <p> + “But drapers! We're too sort of shabby genteel to rise. Our coats and + cuffs might get crumpled—” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't there a Clarke who wrote theology? He was a draper.” + </p> + <p> + “There was one started a sewing cotton, the only one I ever heard tell + of.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever read 'Hearts Insurgent'?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. He did not wait for her context, but + suddenly broke out with an account of his literary requirements. “The fact + is—I've read precious little. One don't get much of a chance, + situated as I am. We have a library at business, and I've gone through + that. Most Besant I've read, and a lot of Mrs. Braddon's and Rider Haggard + and Marie Corelli—and, well—a Ouida or so. They're good + stories, of course, and first-class writers, but they didn't seem to have + much to do with me. But there's heaps of books one hears talked about, I + HAVEN'T read.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you read any other books but novels?” + </p> + <p> + “Scarcely ever. One gets tired after business, and you can't get the + books. I have been to some extension lectures, of course, 'Lizabethan + Dramatists,' it was, but it seemed a little high-flown, you know. And I + went and did wood-carving at the same place. But it didn't seem leading + nowhere, and I cut my thumb and chucked it.” + </p> + <p> + He made a depressing spectacle, with his face anxious and his hands limp. + “It makes me sick,” he said, “to think how I've been fooled with. My old + schoolmaster ought to have a juiced HIDING. He's a thief. He pretended to + undertake to make a man of me, and be's stole twenty-three years of my + life, filled me up with scraps and sweepings. Here I am! I don't KNOW + anything, and I can't DO anything, and all the learning time is over.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” she said; but he did not seem to hear her. “My o' people didn't + know any better, and went and paid thirty pounds premium—thirty + pounds down to have me made THIS. The G.V. promised to teach me the trade, + and he never taught me anything but to be a Hand. It's the way they do + with draper's apprentices. If every swindler was locked up—well, + you'd have nowhere to buy tape and cotton. It's all very well to bring up + Burns and those chaps, but I'm not that make. Yet I'm not such muck that I + might not have been better—with teaching. I wonder what the chaps + who sneer and laugh at such as me would be if they'd been fooled about as + I've been. At twenty-three—it's a long start.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up with a wintry smile, a sadder and wiser Hoopdriver indeed + than him of the glorious imaginings. “It's YOU done this,” he said. + “You're real. And it sets me thinking what I really am, and what I might + have been. Suppose it was all different—” + </p> + <p> + “MAKE it different.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “WORK. Stop playing at life. Face it like a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Hoopdriver, glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes. + “And even then—” + </p> + <p> + “No! It's not much good. I'm beginning too late.” + </p> + <p> + And there, in blankly thoughtful silence, that conversation ended. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVII. IN THE NEW FOREST + </h2> + <p> + At Ringwood they lunched, and Jessie met with a disappointment. There was + no letter for her at the post office. Opposite the hotel, The Chequered + Career, was a machine shop with a conspicuously second-hand Marlborough + Club tandem tricycle displayed in the window, together with the + announcement that bicycles and tricycles were on hire within. The + establishment was impressed on Mr. Hoopdriver's mind by the proprietor's + action in coming across the road and narrowly inspecting their machines. + His action revived a number of disagreeable impressions, but, happily, + came to nothing. While they were still lunching, a tall clergyman, with a + heated face, entered the room and sat down at the table next to theirs. He + was in a kind of holiday costume; that is to say, he had a more than + usually high collar, fastened behind and rather the worse for the weather, + and his long-tail coat had been replaced by a black jacket of quite + remarkable brevity. He had faded brown shoes on his feet, his trouser legs + were grey with dust, and he wore a hat of piebald straw in the place of + the customary soft felt. He was evidently socially inclined. + </p> + <p> + “A most charming day, sir,” he said, in a ringing tenor. + </p> + <p> + “Charming,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, over a portion of pie. + </p> + <p> + “You are, I perceive, cycling through this delightful country,” said the + clergyman. + </p> + <p> + “Touring,” explained Mr. Hoopdriver. “I can imagine that, with a properly + oiled machine, there can be no easier nor pleasanter way of seeing the + country.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Hoopdriver; “it isn't half a bad way of getting about.” + </p> + <p> + “For a young and newly married couple, a tandem bicycle must be, I should + imagine, a delightful bond.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, reddening a little. + </p> + <p> + “Do you ride a tandem?” + </p> + <p> + “No—we're separate,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “The motion through the air is indisputably of a very exhilarating + description.” With that decision, the clergyman turned to give his orders + to the attendant, in a firm, authoritative voice, for a cup of tea, two + gelatine lozenges, bread and butter, salad, and pie to follow. “The + gelatine lozenges I must have. I require them to precipitate the tannin in + my tea,” he remarked to the room at large, and folding his hands, remained + for some time with his chin thereon, staring fixedly at a little picture + over Mr. Hoopdriver's head. + </p> + <p> + “I myself am a cyclist,” said the clergyman, descending suddenly upon Mr. + Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, attacking the moustache. “What machine, may + I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I have recently become possessed of a tricycle. A bicycle is, I regret to + say, considered too—how shall I put it?—flippant by my + parishioners. So I have a tricycle. I have just been hauling it hither.” + </p> + <p> + “Hauling!” said Jessie, surprised. + </p> + <p> + “With a shoe lace. And partly carrying it on my back.” + </p> + <p> + The pause was unexpected. Jessie had some trouble with a crumb. Mr. + Hoopdriver's face passed through several phases of surprise. Then he saw + the explanation. “Had an accident?” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly call it an accident. The wheels suddenly refused to go + round. I found myself about five miles from here with an absolutely + immobile machine.” + </p> + <p> + “Ow!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, trying to seem intelligent, and Jessie glanced + at this insane person. + </p> + <p> + “It appears,” said the clergyman, satisfied with the effect he had + created, “that my man carefully washed out the bearings with paraffin, and + let the machine dry without oiling it again. The consequence was that they + became heated to a considerable temperature and jammed. Even at the outset + the machine ran stiffly as well as noisily, and I, being inclined to + ascribe this stiffness to my own lassitude, merely redoubled my + exertions.” + </p> + <p> + “'Ot work all round,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “You could scarcely put it more appropriately. It is my rule of life to do + whatever I find to do with all my might. I believe, indeed, that the + bearings became red hot. Finally one of the wheels jammed together. A side + wheel it was, so that its stoppage necessitated an inversion of the entire + apparatus,—an inversion in which I participated.” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning, that you went over?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, suddenly much amused. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. And not brooking my defeat, I suffered repeatedly. You may + understand, perhaps, a natural impatience. I expostulated—playfully, + of course. Happily the road was not overlooked. Finally, the entire + apparatus became rigid, and I abandoned the unequal contest. For all + practical purposes the tricycle was no better than a heavy chair without + castors. It was a case of hauling or carrying.” + </p> + <p> + The clergyman's nutriment appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Five miles,” said the clergyman. He began at once to eat bread and butter + vigorously. “Happily,” he said, “I am an eupeptic, energetic sort of + person on principle. I would all men were likewise.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the best way,” agreed Mr. Hoopdriver, and the conversation gave + precedence to bread and butter. + </p> + <p> + “Gelatine,” said the clergyman, presently, stirring his tea thoughtfully, + “precipitates the tannin in one's tea and renders it easy of digestion.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a useful sort of thing to know,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “You are altogether welcome,” said the clergyman, biting generously at two + pieces of bread and butter folded together. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon our two wanderers rode on at an easy pace towards Stoney + Cross. Conversation languished, the topic of South Africa being in + abeyance. Mr. Hoopdriver was silenced by disagreeable thoughts. He had + changed the last sovereign at Ringwood. The fact had come upon him + suddenly. Now too late he was reflecting upon his resources. There was + twenty pounds or more in the post office savings bank in Putney, but his + book was locked up in his box at the Antrobus establishment. Else this + infatuated man would certainly have surreptitiously withdrawn the entire + sum in order to prolong these journeyings even for a few days. As it was, + the shadow of the end fell across his happiness. Strangely enough, in + spite of his anxiety and the morning's collapse, he was still in a curious + emotional state that was certainly not misery. He was forgetting his + imaginings and posings, forgetting himself altogether in his growing + appreciation of his companion. The most tangible trouble in his mind was + the necessity of breaking the matter to her. + </p> + <p> + A long stretch up hill tired them long before Stoney Cross was reached, + and they dismounted and sat under the shade of a little oak tree. Near the + crest the road looped on itself, so that, looking back, it sloped below + them up to the right and then came towards them. About them grew a rich + heather with stunted oaks on the edge of a deep ditch along the roadside, + and this road was sandy; below the steepness of the hill, however, it was + grey and barred with shadows, for there the trees clustered thick and + tall. Mr. Hoopdriver fumbled clumsily with his cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + “There's a thing I got to tell you,” he said, trying to be perfectly calm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to jest discuss your plans a bit, y'know.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm very unsettled,” said Jessie. “You are thinking of writing Books?” + </p> + <p> + “Or doing journalism, or teaching, or something like that.” + </p> + <p> + “And keeping yourself independent of your stepmother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How long'd it take now, to get anything of that sort to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know at all. I believe there are a great many women journalists + and sanitary inspectors, and black-and-white artists. But I suppose it + takes time. Women, you know, edit most papers nowadays, George Egerton + says. I ought, I suppose, to communicate with a literary agent.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Hoopdriver, “it's very suitable work. Not being heavy + like the drapery.” + </p> + <p> + “There's heavy brain labour, you must remember.” + </p> + <p> + “That wouldn't hurt YOU,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, turning a compliment. + </p> + <p> + “It's like this,” he said, ending a pause. “It's a juiced nuisance + alluding to these matters, but—we got very little more money.” + </p> + <p> + He perceived that Jessie started, though he did not look at her. “I was + counting, of course, on your friend's writing and your being able to take + some action to-day.” 'Take some action' was a phrase he had learnt at his + last 'swop.' + </p> + <p> + “Money,” said Jessie. “I didn't think of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo! Here's a tandem bicycle,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, abruptly, and + pointing with his cigarette. + </p> + <p> + She looked, and saw two little figures emerging from among the trees at + the foot of the slope. The riders were bowed sternly over their work and + made a gallant but unsuccessful attempt to take the rise. The machine was + evidently too highly geared for hill climbing, and presently the rearmost + rider rose on his saddle and hopped off, leaving his companion to any fate + he found proper. The foremost rider was a man unused to such machines and + apparently undecided how to dismount. He wabbled a few yards up the hill + with a long tail of machine wabbling behind him. Finally, he made an + attempt to jump off as one does off a single bicycle, hit his boot against + the backbone, and collapsed heavily, falling on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + She stood up. “Dear me!” she said. “I hope he isn't hurt.” + </p> + <p> + The second rider went to the assistance of the fallen man. + </p> + <p> + Hoopdriver stood up, too. The lank, shaky machine was lifted up and + wheeled out of the way, and then the fallen rider, being assisted, got up + slowly and stood rubbing his arm. No serious injury seemed to be done to + the man, and the couple presently turned their attention to the machine by + the roadside. They were not in cycling clothes Hoopdriver observed. One + wore the grotesque raiment for which the Cockney discovery of the game of + golf seems indirectly blamable. Even at this distance the flopping + flatness of his cap, the bright brown leather at the top of his calves, + and the chequering of his stockings were perceptible. The other, the rear + rider, was a slender little man in grey. + </p> + <p> + “Amatoors,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + Jessie stood staring, and a veil of thought dropped over her eyes. She no + longer regarded the two men who were now tinkering at the machine down + below there. + </p> + <p> + “How much have you?” she said. + </p> + <p> + He thrust his right hand into his pocket and produced six coins, counted + them with his left index finger, and held them out to her. “Thirteen four + half,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “Every penny.” + </p> + <p> + “I have half a sovereign,” she said. “Our bill wherever we stop—” + The hiatus was more eloquent than many words. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of money coming in to stop us like this,” said Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “It's a juiced nuisance.” + </p> + <p> + “Money,” said Jessie. “Is it possible—Surely! Conventionality! May + only people of means—Live their own Lives? I never thought ...” + </p> + <p> + Pause. + </p> + <p> + “Here's some more cyclists coming,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + The two men were both busy with their bicycle still, but now from among + the trees emerged the massive bulk of a 'Marlborough Club' tandem, ridden + by a slender woman in grey and a burly man in a Norfolk jacket. Following + close upon this came lank black figure in a piebald straw hat, riding a + tricycle of antiquated pattern with two large wheels in front. The man in + grey remained bowed over the bicycle, with his stomach resting on the + saddle, but his companion stood up and addressed some remark to the + tricycle riders. Then it seemed as if he pointed up hill to where Mr. + Hoopdriver and his companion stood side by side. A still odder thing + followed; the lady in grey took out her handkerchief, appeared to wave it + for a moment, and then at a hasty motion from her companion the white + signal vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said Jessie, peering under her hand. “It's never—” + </p> + <p> + The tandem tricycle began to ascend the hill, quartering elaborately from + side to side to ease the ascent. It was evident, from his heaving + shoulders and depressed head, that the burly gentleman was exerting + himself. The clerical person on the tricycle assumed the shape of a note + of interrogation. Then on the heels of this procession came a dogcart + driven by a man in a billycock hat and containing a lady in dark green. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like some sort of excursion,” said Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + Jessie did not answer. She was still peering under her hand. “Surely,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + The clergyman's efforts were becoming convulsive. With a curious jerking + motion, the tricycle he rode twisted round upon itself, and he partly + dismounted and partly fell off. He turned his machine up hill again + immediately and began to wheel it. Then the burly gentleman dismounted, + and with a courtly attentiveness assisted the lady in grey to alight. + There was some little difference of opinion as to assistance, she so + clearly wished to help push. Finally she gave in, and the burly gentleman + began impelling the machine up hill by his own unaided strength. His face + made a dot of brilliant colour among the greys and greens at the foot of + the hill. The tandem bicycle was now, it seems, repaired, and this joined + the tail of the procession, its riders walking behind the dogcart, from + which the lady in green and the driver had now descended. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hoopdriver,” said Jessie. “Those people—I'm almost sure—” + </p> + <p> + “Lord!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, reading the rest in her face, and he turned + to pick up his machine at once. Then he dropped it and assisted her to + mount. + </p> + <p> + At the sight of Jessie mounting against the sky line the people coming up + the hill suddenly became excited and ended Jessie's doubts at once. Two + handkerchiefs waved, and some one shouted. The riders of the tandem + bicycle began to run it up hill, past the other vehicles. But our young + people did not wait for further developments of the pursuit. In another + moment they were out of sight, riding hard down a steady incline towards + Stoney Cross. + </p> + <p> + Before they had dropped among the trees out of sight of the hill brow, + Jessie looked back and saw the tandem rising over the crest, with its rear + rider just tumbling into the saddle. “They're coming,” she said, and bent + her head over her handles in true professional style. + </p> + <p> + They whirled down into the valley, over a white bridge, and saw ahead of + them a number of shaggy little ponies frisking in the roadway. + Involuntarily they slackened. “Shoo!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, and the ponies + kicked up their heels derisively. At that Mr. Hoopdriver lost his temper + and charged at them, narrowly missed one, and sent them jumping the ditch + into the bracken under the trees, leaving the way clear for Jessie. + </p> + <p> + Then the road rose quietly but persistently; the treadles grew heavy, and + Mr. Hoopdriver's breath sounded like a saw. The tandem appeared, making + frightful exertions, at the foot, while the chase was still climbing. + Then, thank Heaven! a crest and a stretch of up and down road, whose only + disadvantage was its pitiless exposure to the afternoon sun. The tandem + apparently dismounted at the hill, and did not appear against the hot blue + sky until they were already near some trees and a good mile away. + </p> + <p> + “We're gaining,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a little Niagara of + perspiration dropping from brow to cheek. “That hill—” + </p> + <p> + But that was their only gleam of success. They were both nearly spent. + Hoopdriver, indeed, was quite spent, and only a feeling of shame prolonged + the liquidation of his bankrupt physique. From that point the tandem + grained upon them steadily. At the Rufus Stone, it was scarcely a hundred + yards behind. Then one desperate spurt, and they found themselves upon a + steady downhill stretch among thick pine woods. Downhill nothing can beat + a highly geared tandem bicycle. Automatically Mr. Hoopdriver put up his + feet, and Jessie slackened her pace. In another moment they heard the + swish of the fat pneumatics behind them, and the tandem passed Hoopdriver + and drew alongside Jessie. Hoopdriver felt a mad impulse to collide with + this abominable machine as it passed him. His only consolation was to + notice that its riders, riding violently, were quite as dishevelled as + himself and smothered in sandy white dust. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly Jessie stopped and dismounted, and the tandem riders shot panting + past them downhill. “Brake,” said Dangle, who was riding behind, and stood + up on the pedals. For a moment the velocity of the thing increased, and + then they saw the dust fly from the brake, as it came down on the front + tire. Dangle's right leg floundered in the air as he came off in the road. + The tandem wobbled. “Hold it!” cried Phipps over his shoulder, going on + downhill. “I can't get off if you don't hold it.” He put on the brake + until the machine stopped almost dead, and then feeling unstable began to + pedal again. Dangle shouted after him. “Put out your foot, man,” said + Dangle. + </p> + <p> + In this way the tandem riders were carried a good hundred yards or more + beyond their quarry. Then Phipps realized his possibilities, slacked up + with the brake, and let the thing go over sideways, dropping on to his + right foot. With his left leg still over the saddle, and still holding the + handles, he looked over his shoulder and began addressing uncomplimentary + remarks to Dangle. “You only think of yourself,” said Phipps, with a + florid face. + </p> + <p> + “They have forgotten us,” said Jessie, turning her machine. + </p> + <p> + “There was a road at the top of the hill—to Lyndhurst,” said + Hoopdriver, following her example. + </p> + <p> + “It's no good. There's the money. We must give it up. But let us go back + to that hotel at Rufus Stone. I don't see why we should be led captive.” + </p> + <p> + So to the consternation of the tandem riders, Jessie and her companion + mounted and rode quietly back up the hill again. As they dismounted at the + hotel entrance, the tandem overtook them, and immediately afterwards the + dogcart came into view in pursuit. Dangle jumped off. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Milton, I believe,” said Dangle, panting and raising a damp cap from + his wet and matted hair. + </p> + <p> + “I SAY,” said Phipps, receding involuntarily. “Don't go doing it again, + Dangle. HELP a chap.” + </p> + <p> + “One minute,” said Dangle, and ran after his colleague. + </p> + <p> + Jessie leant her machine against the wall, and went into the hotel + entrance. Hoopdriver remained in the hotel entrance, limp but defiant. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVIII. AT THE RUFUS STONE + </h2> + <p> + He folded his arms as Dangle and Phipps returned towards him. Phipps was + abashed by his inability to cope with the tandem, which he was now + wheeling, but Dangle was inclined to be quarrelsome. “Miss Milton?” he + said briefly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver bowed over his folded arms. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Milton within?” said Dangle. + </p> + <p> + “AND not to be disturved,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “You are a scoundrel, sir,” said Mr. Dangle. + </p> + <p> + “Et your service,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “She awaits 'er stepmother, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dangle hesitated. “She will be here immediately,” he said. “Here is + her friend, Miss Mergle.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver unfolded his arms slowly, and, with an air of immense calm, + thrust his hands into his breeches pockets. Then with one of those fatal + hesitations of his, it occurred to him that this attitude was merely + vulgarly defiant he withdrew both, returned one and pulled at the + insufficient moustache with the other. Miss Mergle caught him in + confusion. “Is this the man?” she said to Dangle, and forthwith, “How DARE + you, sir? How dare you face me? That poor girl!” + </p> + <p> + “You will permit me to observe,” began Mr. Hoopdriver, with a splendid + drawl, seeing himself, for the first time in all this business, as a + romantic villain. + </p> + <p> + “Ugh,” said Miss Mergle, unexpectedly striking him about the midriff with + her extended palms, and sending him staggering backward into the hall of + the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Let me pass,” said Miss Mergle, in towering indignation. “How dare you + resist my passage?” and so swept by him and into the dining-room, wherein + Jessie had sought refuge. + </p> + <p> + As Mr. Hoopdriver struggled for equilibrium with the umbrella-stand, + Dangle and Phipps, roused from their inertia by Miss Mergle's activity, + came in upon her heels, Phipps leading. “How dare you prevent that lady + passing?” said Phipps. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver looked obstinate, and, to Dangle's sense, dangerous, but he + made no answer. A waiter in full bloom appeared at the end of the passage, + guardant. “It is men of your stamp, sir,” said Phipps, “who discredit + manhood.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver thrust his hands into his pockets. “Who the juice are you?” + shouted Mr. Hoopdriver, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Who are YOU, sir?” retorted Phipps. “Who are you? That's the question. + What are YOU, and what are you doing, wandering at large with a young lady + under age?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't speak to him,” said Dangle. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a-going to tell all my secrets to any one who comes at me,” said + Hoopdriver. “Not Likely.” And added fiercely, “And that I tell you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He and Phipps stood, legs apart and both looking exceedingly fierce at one + another, and Heaven alone knows what might not have happened, if the long + clergyman had not appeared in the doorway, heated but deliberate. + “Petticoated anachronism,” said the long clergyman in the doorway, + apparently still suffering from the antiquated prejudice that demanded a + third wheel and a black coat from a clerical rider. He looked at Phipps + and Hoopdriver for a moment, then extending his hand towards the latter, + he waved it up and down three times, saying, “Tchak, tchak, tchak,” very + deliberately as he did so. Then with a concluding “Ugh!” and a gesture of + repugnance he passed on into the dining-room from which the voice of Miss + Mergle was distinctly audible remarking that the weather was extremely hot + even for the time of year. + </p> + <p> + This expression of extreme disapprobation had a very demoralizing effect + upon Hoopdriver, a demoralization that was immediately completed by the + advent of the massive Widgery. + </p> + <p> + “Is this the man?” said Widgery very grimly, and producing a special voice + for the occasion from somewhere deep in his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Don't hurt him!” said Mrs. Milton, with clasped hands. “However much + wrong he has done her—No violence!” + </p> + <p> + “'Ow many more of you?” said Hoopdriver, at bay before the umbrella stand. + “Where is she? What has he done with her?” said Mrs. Milton. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to stand here and be insulted by a lot of strangers,” said + Mr. Hoopdriver. “So you needn't think it.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don't worry, Mr. Hoopdriver,” said Jessie, suddenly appearing in + the door of the dining-room. “I'm here, mother.” Her face was white. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Milton said something about her child, and made an emotional charge + at Jessie. The embrace vanished into the dining-room. Widgery moved as if + to follow, and hesitated. “You'd better make yourself scarce,” he said to + Mr. Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “I shan't do anything of the kind,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a catching + of the breath. “I'm here defending that young lady.” + </p> + <p> + “You've done her enough mischief, I should think,” said Widgery, suddenly + walking towards the dining-room, and closing the door behind him, leaving + Dangle and Phipps with Hoopdriver. + </p> + <p> + “Clear!” said Phipps, threateningly. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go and sit out in the garden,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, with dignity. + “There I shall remain.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't make a row with him,” said Dangle. + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Hoopdriver retired, unassaulted, in almost sobbing dignity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIX. + </h2> + <p> + So here is the world with us again, and our sentimental excursion is over. + In the front of the Rufus Stone Hotel conceive a remarkable collection of + wheeled instruments, watched over by Dangle and Phipps in grave and + stately attitudes, and by the driver of a stylish dogcart from Ringwood. + In the garden behind, in an attitude of nervous prostration, Mr. + Hoopdriver was seated on a rustic seat. Through the open window of a + private sitting-room came a murmur of voices, as of men and women in + conference. Occasionally something that might have been a girlish sob. + </p> + <p> + “I fail to see what status Widgery has,” says Dangle, “thrusting himself + in there.” + </p> + <p> + “He takes too much upon himself,” said Phipps. + </p> + <p> + “I've been noticing little things, yesterday and to-day,” said Dangle, and + stopped. + </p> + <p> + “They went to the cathedral together in the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Financially it would be a good thing for her, of course,” said Dangle, + with a gloomy magnanimity. + </p> + <p> + He felt drawn to Phipps now by the common trouble, in spite of the man's + chequered legs. “Financially it wouldn't be half bad.” + </p> + <p> + “He's so dull and heavy,” said Phipps. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, within, the clergyman had, by promptitude and dexterity, taken + the chair and was opening the case against the unfortunate Jessie. I + regret to have to say that my heroine had been appalled by the visible + array of public opinion against her excursion, to the pitch of tears. She + was sitting with flushed cheeks and swimming eyes at the end of the table + opposite to the clergyman. She held her handkerchief crumpled up in her + extended hand. Mrs. Milton sat as near to her as possible, and + occasionally made little dabs with her hand at Jessie's hand, to indicate + forgiveness. These advances were not reciprocated, which touched Widgery + very much. The lady in green, Miss Mergle (B. A.), sat on the opposite + side near the clergyman. She was the strong-minded schoolmistress to whom + Jessie had written, and who had immediately precipitated the pursuit upon + her. She had picked up the clergyman in Ringwood, and had told him + everything forthwith, having met him once at a British Association + meeting. He had immediately constituted himself administrator of the + entire business. Widgery, having been foiled in an attempt to conduct the + proceedings, stood with his legs wide apart in front of the fireplace + ornament, and looked profound and sympathetic. Jessie's account of her + adventures was a chary one and given amidst frequent interruptions. She + surprised herself by skilfully omitting any allusion to the Bechamel + episode. She completely exonerated Hoopdriver from the charge of being + more than an accessory to her escapade. But public feeling was heavy + against Hoopdriver. Her narrative was inaccurate and sketchy, but happily + the others were too anxious to pass opinions to pin her down to + particulars. At last they had all the facts they would permit. + </p> + <p> + “My dear young lady,” said the clergyman, “I can only ascribe this + extravagant and regrettable expedition of yours to the wildest + misconceptions of your place in the world and of your duties and + responsibilities. Even now, it seems to me, your present emotion is due + not so much to a real and sincere penitence for your disobedience and + folly as to a positive annoyance at our most fortunate interference—” + </p> + <p> + “Not that,” said Mrs. Milton, in a low tone. “Not that.” + </p> + <p> + “But WHY did she go off like this?” said Widgery. “That's what <i>I</i> + want to know.” + </p> + <p> + Jessie made an attempt to speak, but Mrs. Milton said “Hush!” and the + ringing tenor of the clergyman rode triumphantly over the meeting. “I + cannot understand this spirit of unrest that has seized upon the more + intelligent portion of the feminine community. You had a pleasant home, a + most refined and intelligent lady in the position of your mother, to + cherish and protect you—” + </p> + <p> + “If I HAD a mother,” gulped Jessie, succumbing to the obvious snare of + self-pity, and sobbing. + </p> + <p> + “To cherish, protect, and advise you. And you must needs go out of it all + alone into a strange world of unknown dangers-” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to learn,” said Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “You wanted to learn. May you never have anything to UNlearn.” + </p> + <p> + “AH!” from Mrs. Milton, very sadly. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't fair for all of you to argue at me at once,” submitted Jessie, + irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “A world full of unknown dangers,” resumed the clergyman. “Your proper + place was surely the natural surroundings that are part of you. You have + been unduly influenced, it is only too apparent, by a class of literature + which, with all due respect to distinguished authoress that shall be + nameless, I must call the New Woman Literature. In that deleterious + ingredient of our book boxes—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't altogether agree with you there,” said Miss Mergle, throwing her + head back and regarding him firmly through her spectacles, and Mr. Widgery + coughed. + </p> + <p> + “What HAS all this to do with me?” asked Jessie, availing herself of the + interruption. + </p> + <p> + “The point is,” said Mrs. Milton, on her defence, “that in my books—” + </p> + <p> + “All I want to do,” said Jessie, “is to go about freely by myself. Girls + do so in America. Why not here?” + </p> + <p> + “Social conditions are entirely different in America,” said Miss Mergle. + “Here we respect Class Distinctions.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very unfortunate. What I want to know is, why I cannot go away for a + holiday if I want to.” + </p> + <p> + “With a strange young man, socially your inferior,” said Widgery, and made + her flush by his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” she said. “With anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “They don't do that, even in America,” said Miss Mergle. + </p> + <p> + “My dear young lady,” said the clergyman, “the most elementary principles + of decorum—A day will come when you will better understand how + entirely subservient your ideas are to the very fundamentals of our + present civilisation, when you will better understand the harrowing + anxiety you have given Mrs. Milton by this inexplicable flight of yours. + We can only put things down at present, in charity, to your ignorance—” + </p> + <p> + “You have to consider the general body of opinion, too,” said Widgery. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Miss Mergle. “There is no such thing as conduct in the + absolute.” “If once this most unfortunate business gets about,” said the + clergyman, “it will do you infinite harm.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'VE done nothing wrong. Why should I be responsible for other + people's—” + </p> + <p> + “The world has no charity,” said Mrs. Milton. + </p> + <p> + “For a girl,” said Jessie. “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Now do let us stop arguing, my dear young lady, and let us listen to + reason. Never mind how or why, this conduct of yours will do you infinite + harm, if once it is generally known. And not only that, it will cause + infinite pain to those who care for you. But if you will return at once to + your home, causing it to be understood that you have been with friends for + these last few days—” + </p> + <p> + “Tell lies,” said Jessie. “Certainly not. Most certainly not. But I + understand that is how your absence is understood at present, and there is + no reason—” + </p> + <p> + Jessie's grip tightened on her handkerchief. “I won't go back,” she said, + “to have it as I did before. I want a room of my own, what books I need to + read, to be free to go out by myself alone, Teaching—” + </p> + <p> + “Anything,” said Mrs. Milton, “anything in reason.” + </p> + <p> + “But will you keep your promise?” said Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “Surely you won't dictate to your mother!” said Widgery. + </p> + <p> + “My stepmother! I don't want to dictate. I want definite promises now.” + </p> + <p> + “This is most unreasonable,” said the clergyman. “Very well,” said Jessie, + swallowing a sob but with unusual resolution. “Then I won't go back. My + life is being frittered away—” + </p> + <p> + “LET her have her way,” said Widgery. + </p> + <p> + “A room then. All your Men. I'm not to come down and talk away half my + days—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child, if only to save you,” said Mrs. Milton. “If you don't keep + your promise—” + </p> + <p> + “Then I take it the matter is practically concluded,” said the clergyman. + “And that you very properly submit to return to your proper home. And now, + if I may offer a suggestion, it is that we take tea. Freed of its tannin, + nothing, I think, is more refreshing and stimulating.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a train from Lyndhurst at thirteen minutes to six,” said Widgery, + unfolding a time table. “That gives us about half an hour or + three-quarters here—if a conveyance is obtainable, that is.” + </p> + <p> + “A gelatine lozenge dropped into the tea cup precipitates the tannin in + the form of tannate of gelatine,” said the clergyman to Miss Mergle, in a + confidential bray. + </p> + <p> + Jessie stood up, and saw through the window a depressed head and shoulders + over the top of the back of a garden seat. She moved towards the door. + “While you have tea, mother,” she said, “I must tell Mr. Hoopdriver of our + arrangements.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think I—” began the clergyman. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Jessie, very rudely; “I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Jessie, haven't you already—” + </p> + <p> + “You are already breaking the capitulation,” said Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “Will you want the whole half hour?” said Widgery, at the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Every minute,” said Jessie, in the doorway. “He's behaved very nobly to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “There's tea,” said Widgery. + </p> + <p> + “I've had tea.” + </p> + <p> + “He may not have behaved badly,” said the clergyman. “But he's certainly + an astonishingly weak person to let a wrong-headed young girl—” + </p> + <p> + Jessie closed the door into the garden. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Mr. Hoopdriver made a sad figure in the sunlight outside. It was + over, this wonderful excursion of his, so far as she was concerned, and + with the swift blow that separated them, he realised all that those days + had done for him. He tried to grasp the bearings of their position. Of + course, they would take her away to those social altitudes of hers. She + would become an inaccessible young lady again. Would they let him say + good-bye to her? + </p> + <p> + How extraordinary it had all been! He recalled the moment when he had + first seen her riding, with the sunlight behind her, along the riverside + road; he recalled that wonderful night at Bognor, remembering it as if + everything had been done of his own initiative. “Brave, brave!” she had + called him. And afterwards, when she came down to him in the morning, + kindly, quiet. But ought he to have persuaded her then to return to her + home? He remembered some intention of the sort. Now these people snatched + her away from him as though he was scarcely fit to live in the same world + with her. No more he was! He felt he had presumed upon her worldly + ignorance in travelling with her day after day. She was so dainty, so + delightful, so serene. He began to recapitulate her expressions, the light + of her eyes, the turn of her face.. . + </p> + <p> + He wasn't good enough to walk in the same road with her. Nobody was. + Suppose they let him say good-bye to her; what could he say? That? But + they were sure not to let her talk to him alone; her mother would be there + as—what was it? Chaperone. He'd never once had a chance of saying + what he felt; indeed, it was only now he was beginning to realise what he + felt. Love I he wouldn't presume. It was worship. If only he could have + one more chance. He must have one more chance, somewhere, somehow. Then he + would pour out his soul to her eloquently. He felt eloquently, and words + would come. He was dust under her feet... + </p> + <p> + His meditation was interrupted by the click of a door handle, and Jessie + appeared in the sunlight under the verandah. “Come away from here,” she + said to Hoopdriver, as he rose to meet her. “I'm going home with them. We + have to say good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hoopdriver winced, opened and shut his mouth, and rose without a word. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XL. + </h2> + <p> + At first Jessie Milton and Mr. Hoopdriver walked away from the hotel in + silence. He heard a catching in her breath and glanced at her and saw her + ips pressed tight and a tear on her cheek. Her face was hot and bright. + She was looking straight before her. He could think of nothing to say, and + thrust his hands in his pockets and looked away from her intentionally. + After a while she began to talk. They dealt disjointedly with scenery + first, and then with the means of self-education. She took his address at + Antrobus's and promised to send him some books. But even with that it was + spiritless, aching talk, Hoopdriver felt, for the fighting mood was over. + She seemed, to him, preoccupied with the memories of her late battle, and + that appearance hurt him. + </p> + <p> + “It's the end,” he whispered to himself. “It's the end.” + </p> + <p> + They went into a hollow and up a gentle wooded slope, and came at last to + a high and open space overlooking a wide expanse of country. There, by a + common impulse, they stopped. She looked at her watch—a little + ostentatiously. They stared at the billows of forest rolling away beneath + them, crest beyond crest, of leafy trees, fading at last into blue. + </p> + <p> + “The end” ran through his mind, to the exclusion of all speakable + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” she said, presently, breaking the silence, “it comes to + good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + For half a minute he did not answer. Then he gathered his resolution. + “There is one thing I MUST say.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said, surprised and abruptly forgetting the recent argument. + “I ask no return. But—” + </p> + <p> + Then he stopped. “I won't say it. It's no good. It would be rot from me—now. + I wasn't going to say anything. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with a startled expression in her eyes. “No,” she said. + “But don't forget you are going to work. Remember, brother Chris, you are + my friend. You will work. You are not a very strong man, you know, now—you + will forgive me—nor do you know all you should. But what will you be + in six years' time?” + </p> + <p> + He stared hard in front of him still, and the lines about his weak mouth + seemed to strengthen. He knew she understood what he could not say. + </p> + <p> + “I'll work,” he said, concisely. They stood side by side for a moment. + Then he said, with a motion of his head, “I won't come back to THEM. Do + you mind? Going back alone?” + </p> + <p> + She took ten seconds to think. “No.” she said, and held out her hand, + biting her nether lip. “GOOD-BYE,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + He turned, with a white face, looked into her eyes, took her hand limply, + and then with a sudden impulse, lifted it to his lips. She would have + snatched it away, but his grip tightened to her movement. She felt the + touch of his lips, and then he had dropped her fingers and turned from her + and was striding down the slope. A dozen paces away his foot turned in the + lip of a rabbit hole, and he stumbled forward and almost fell. He + recovered his balance and went on, not looking back. He never once looked + back. She stared at his receding figure until it was small and far below + her, and then, the tears running over her eyelids now, turned slowly, and + walked with her hands gripped hard together behind her, towards Stoney + Cross again. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know,” she whispered to herself. “I did not understand. Even + now—No, I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLI. THE ENVOY + </h2> + <p> + So the story ends, dear Reader. Mr. Hoopdriver, sprawling down there among + the bracken, must sprawl without our prying, I think, or listening to what + chances to his breathing. And of what came of it all, of the six years and + afterwards, this is no place to tell. In truth, there is no telling it, + for the years have still to run. But if you see how a mere counter-jumper, + a cad on castors, and a fool to boot, may come to feel the little + insufficiencies of life, and if he has to any extent won your sympathies, + my end is attained. (If it is not attained, may Heaven forgive us both!) + Nor will we follow this adventurous young lady of ours back to her home at + Surbiton, to her new struggle against Widgery and Mrs. Milton combined. + For, as she will presently hear, that devoted man has got his reward. For + her, also, your sympathies are invited. + </p> + <p> + The rest of this great holiday, too—five days there are left of it—is + beyond the limits of our design. You see fitfully a slender figure in a + dusty brown suit and heather mixture stockings, and brown shoes not + intended to be cycled in, flitting Londonward through Hampshire and + Berkshire and Surrey, going economically—for excellent reasons. Day + by day he goes on, riding fitfully and for the most part through + bye-roads, but getting a few miles to the north-eastward every day. He is + a narrow-chested person, with a nose hot and tanned at the bridge with + unwonted exposure, and brown, red-knuckled fists. A musing expression sits + upon the face of this rider, you observe. Sometimes he whistles + noiselessly to himself, sometimes he speaks aloud, “a juiced good try, + anyhow!” you hear; and sometimes, and that too often for my liking, he + looks irritable and hopeless. “I know,” he says, “I know. It's over and + done. It isn't IN me. You ain't man enough, Hoopdriver. Look at yer silly + hands!... Oh, my God!” and a gust of passion comes upon him and he rides + furiously for a space. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes again his face softens. “Anyhow, if I'm not to see her—she's + going to lend me books,” he thinks, and gets such comfort as he can. Then + again; “Books! What's books?” Once or twice triumphant memories of the + earlier incidents nerve his face for a while. “I put the ky-bosh on HIS + little game,” he remarks. “I DID that,” and one might even call him happy + in these phases. And, by-the-bye, the machine, you notice, has been + enamel-painted grey and carries a sonorous gong. + </p> + <p> + This figure passes through Basingstoke and Bagshot, Staines, Hampton, and + Richmond. At last, in Putney High Street, glowing with the warmth of an + August sunset and with all the 'prentice boys busy shutting up shop, and + the work girls going home, and the shop folks peeping abroad, and the + white 'buses full of late clerks and city folk rumbling home to their + dinners, we part from him. He is back. To-morrow, the early rising, the + dusting, and drudgery, begin again—but with a difference, with + wonderful memories and still more wonderful desires and ambitions + replacing those discrepant dreams. + </p> + <p> + He turns out of the High Street at the corner, dismounts with a sigh, and + pushes his machine through the gates of the Antrobus stable yard, as the + apprentice with the high collar holds them open. There are words of + greeting. “South Coast,” you hear; and “splendid weather—splendid.” + He sighs. “Yes—swapped him off for a couple of sovs. It's a juiced + good machine.” + </p> + <p> + The gate closes upon him with a slam, and he vanishes from our ken. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wheels of Chance, by H. G. 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