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The Wheels Of Chance
By
H. G. Wells
Contents
I.
THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTER IN THE STORY.
II =
III =
IV.
THE RIDING FORTH OF MR. HOOPDRIVER.
V.
THE SHAMEFUL EPISODE OF THE YOUNG LADY IN GREY.
VII. =
VIII. =
IX.
HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER WAS HAUNTED
X.
THE IMAGININGS OF MR. HOOPDRIVER'S HEART.
XII.
THE DREAMS OF MR. HOOPDRIVER
XIII.
HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER WENT TO HASLEMERE.
XIV.
HOW MR. HOOPDRIVER REACHED MIDHURST.
XVI.
OF THE ARTIFICIAL IN MAN, AND OF THE ZEITGEIST.
XVII.
THE ENCOUNTER AT MIDHURST
XVIII. =
XIX. =
XXII. =
XXIII. =
XXV. =
XXVII.
THE AWAKENING OF MR. HOOPDRIVER
XXVIII.
THE DEPARTURE FROM CHICHESTER
XXIX.
THE UNEXPECTED ANECDOTE OF THE LION..
XXXI. =
XXXII.
MR. HOOPDRIVER, KNIGHT ERRANT
XXXIII.
THE ABASEMENT OF MR. HOOPDRIVER
XXXIV. =
XXXV. =
XXXVI. =
XXXIX. =
XL. =
If you (presuming you are of the sex that does
such things)--if you had gone into the Drapery Emporium--which is really on=
ly
magnificent for shop--of Messrs. Antrobus & Co.--a perfectly fictitious
"Co.," by the bye--of Putney, on the 14th of August, 1895, had tu=
rned
to the right-hand side, where the blocks of white linen and piles of blanke=
ts rise
up to the rail from which the pink and blue prints depend, you might have b=
een
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 lar=
gish
knuckles and enormous cuffs over the counter, and he would have asked you,
protruding a pointed chin and without the slightest anticipation of pleasur=
e 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 expressi=
on,
and making a kind of circular sweep, invited you to "step this way,&qu=
ot; and
so led you beyond his ken; but under other and happier conditions,--huckaba=
ck,
blankets, dimity, cretonne, linen, calico, are cases in point,--he would ha=
ve
requested you to take a seat, emphasising the hospitality by leaning over t=
he
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 st=
ory
less cursory attention.
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 a=
ll
small, but none ill-shaped. A rosette of pins decorated the lappel of his c=
oat.
His remarks, you would observe, were entirely what people used to call clic=
he,
formulae not organic to the occasion, but stereotyped ages ago and learnt y=
ears
since by heart. "This, madam," he would say, "is selling very
well." "We are doing a very good article at four three a yard.&qu=
ot;
"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 littl=
e bill
in that weak flourishing hand peculiar to drapers, and have bawled "Sa=
yn!"
Then a puffy little shop-walker would have come into view, looked at the bi=
ll
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 lit=
tle
shop-walker would have been bowing you out, with fountains of civilities at
work all about you. And so the interview would have terminated.
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 th=
at
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.
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 yo=
ung
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 observe=
d,
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 gradua=
ting
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 shadin=
g 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 aspec=
t of
the knee. So far we may proceed with our details. Fired by these discoverie=
s,
an investigator might perhaps have pursued his inquiries further--to bruise=
s 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 h=
ave
exhibited enough for our purpose. Even in literature one must know where to
draw the line.
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 Hol=
mes
(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, poi=
nted
unmistakably to the violent impact of the Mounting Beginner upon the bicycl=
ing
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 t=
he
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 h=
ands
are eloquent of the nervous clutch of the wavering rider. And so forth, unt=
il
Sherlock is presently explaining, by the help of the minor injuries, that t=
he
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 al=
l on
of perhaps three-and-forty pounds.
The revelation is made. Behind the decorous fi=
gure
of the attentive shopman that I had the honour of showing you at first, ris=
es a
vision of a nightly struggle, of two dark figures and a machine in a dark r=
oad,--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 turn=
ing
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 road=
side
and rubbing his leg at some new place, and his friend, sympathetic (but by =
no
means depressed), repairing the displacement of the handle-bar.
Thus even in a shop assistant does the warmth =
of
manhood assert itself, and drive him against all the conditions of his call=
ing,
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 examinati=
on
of the draper reveals beneath his draperies--the man! To which initial fact
(among others) we shall come again in the end.
=
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 articl=
es
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 pi=
ece
of gingham, and gripping the corners of the folds in his hands, begins to s=
traighten
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 tail=
less
black coat and a very high collar, who is deliberately unfolding and refold=
ing
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. B=
ut
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 L=
ady,
the last but one of the girl apprentices to the dress-making upstairs. He
inclines rather to street fighting against revolutionaries--because then sh=
e could
see him from the window.
Jerking them back to the present comes the puf=
fy
little shop-walker, with a paper in his hand. The apprentice becomes extrem=
ely
active. The shopwalker eyes the goods in hand. "Hoopdriver," he s=
ays,
"how's that line of g-sez-x ginghams?"
Hoopdriver returns from an imaginary triumph o=
ver
the uncertainties of dismounting. "They're going fairly well, sir. But=
the
larger checks seem hanging."
The shop-walker brings up parallel to the coun=
ter.
"Any particular time when you want your holidays?" he asks.
Hoopdriver pulls at his skimpy moustache.
"No--Don't want them too late, sir, of course."
"How about this day week?"
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 t=
he
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.
The die is cast.
The shop-walker makes a note of it and goes on=
to
Briggs in the "dresses," the next in the strict scale of preceden=
ce 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.
At supper that night, holiday talk held undisp=
uted
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."
"You're never going to ride that dreadful
machine of yours, day after day?" said Miss Howe of the Costume
Department.
"I am," said Hoopdriver as calmly as
possible, pulling at the insufficient moustache. "I'm going for a Cycl=
ing
Tour. Along the South Coast."
"Well, all I hope, Mr. Hoopdriver, is that
you'll get fine weather," said Miss Howe. "And not come any nasty
croppers."
"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.)
"You stow it," said Mr. Hoopdriver,
looking hard and threateningly at the junior apprentice, and suddenly addin=
g in
a tone of bitter contempt,--"Jampot."
"I'm getting fairly safe upon it now,&quo=
t;
he told Miss Howe.
At other times Hoopdriver might have further r=
esented
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 gymnastic=
s up
the Roehampton Road before it would be time to come back for locking up. Wh=
en
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.
"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 ta=
ke
my word."
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.
"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 thr=
ough
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, a=
nd
hurry off into the next county--and always light up before dark. You mind j=
ust
a few little things like that, Hoopdriver, and nothing much can't happen to
you--you take my word."
"Right you are!" said Hoopdriver.
"Good-night, old man."
"Good-night," said Briggs, and there=
was
silence for a space, save for the succulent respiration of the pipe. Hoopdr=
iver
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?
"Never oil the steering. It's fatal,"=
; a
voice that came from round a fitful glow of light, was saying. "And cl=
ean
the chain daily with black-lead. You mind just a few little things like
that--"
"Lord LOVE us!" said Hoopdriver, and
pulled the bedclothes over his ears.
=
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 gett=
ing
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. There=
after,
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 ca=
ge
again for another twelve months, lies blacker and blacker across the sunlig=
ht.
But on the first morning of the ten the holiday has no past, and ten days s=
eems
as good as infinity.
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 clou=
ds
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 rel=
ics
of an overnight shower glittered on the leaves and grass. Hoopdriver had
breakfasted early by Mrs. Gunn's complaisance. He wheeled his machine up Pu=
tney
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 hundr=
ed
pounds.
He had on his new brown cycling suit--a handso=
me
Norfolk jacket thing for 30/(sp.)--and his legs--those martyr legs--were mo=
re
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 be=
hind
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 w=
ith
a stately and cautious restraint in his pace, and a dignified curvature of
path, began his great Cycling Tour along the Southern Coast.
There is only one phrase to describe his cours=
e 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 ro=
de 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 h=
is
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 lo=
ng
and blue across the road, the morning sunlight was like amber fire.
At the cross-roads at the top of West Hill, wh=
ere
the cattle trough stands, he turned towards Kingston and set himself to sca=
le
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.
At the sight of him Mr. Hoopdriver, according =
to
his previous determination, resolved to dismount. He tightened the brake, a=
nd
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 tak=
e so
long in the telling--he found the machine was falling over to the right. Wh=
ile
he was deciding upon a plan of action, gravitation appears to have been bus=
y.
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 bett=
er.
"THAT ain't the way to get off," said
the heathkeeper.
Mr. Hoopdriver picked up the machine. The hand=
le
was twisted askew again He said something under his breath. He would have to
unscrew the beastly thing.
"THAT ain't the way to get off,"
repeated the heathkeeper, after a silence.
"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.
"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.
Mr. Hoopdriver got out his screw hammer and we=
nt
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.
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 nu=
t.
Mr. Hoopdriver used a nasty, low word.
"They're trying things, them bicycles,&qu=
ot;
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."
Then with the air of one who has delivered an
ultimatum, he began replacing the screw hammer in the wallet.
The heath-keeper never moved. Possibly he rais=
ed
his eyebrows, and certainly he stared harder than he did before. "You'=
re
pretty unsociable," he said slowly, as Mr. Hoopdriver seized the handl=
es
and stood ready to mount as soon as the cart had passed.
The indignation gathered slowly but surely.
"Why don't you ride on a private road of your own if no one ain't to s=
peak
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, Tou=
chy?
Ain't I good enough to speak to you? Been struck wooden all of a sudden?&qu=
ot;
Mr. Hoopdriver stared into the Immensity of the
Future. He was rigid with emotion. It was like abusing the Lions in Trafalg=
ar
Square. But the heathkeeper felt his honour was at stake.
"Don't you make no remarks to 'IM," =
said
the keeper as the carter came up broadside to them. "'E's a bloomin' d=
ook,
'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--"
But Mr. Hoopdriver heard no more. He was hoppi=
ng
vigorously along the road, in a spasmodic attempt to remount. He missed the
treadle once and swore viciously, to the keeper's immense delight. "Na=
r!
Nar!" said the heath-keeper.
In another moment Mr. Hoopdriver was up, and a=
fter
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 twist=
ed
round and upset if he tried that. He had to imagine the indignant heath-kee=
per telling
the carter all about it. He tried to infuse as much disdain aspossible into=
his
retreating aspect.
He drove on his sinuous way down the dip by the
new mere and up the little rise to the crest of the hill that drops into
Kingston Vale; and so remarkable is the psychology of cycling, that he rode=
all
the straighter and easier because the emotions the heathkeeper had aroused =
relieved
his mind of the constant expectation of collapse that had previously unnerv=
ed
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.
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 modera=
tely
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 throu=
gh
the keen, sweet, morning air. He reached out his thumb and twanged his bell=
out
of sheer happiness.
"'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, t=
he
Hand, had vanished from existence. Instead was a gentleman, a man of pleasu=
re,
with a five-pound note, two sovereigns, and some silver at various convenie=
nt points
of his person. At any rate as good as a Dook, if not precisely in the peera=
ge.
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 wall=
et
was rattling on the mud-guard. How cheerfully the wheels buzzed!
The cemetery was very silent and peaceful, but=
the
Vale was waking, and windows rattled and squeaked up, and a white dog came =
out
of one of the houses and yelped at him. He got off, rather breathless, at t=
he
foot of Kingston Hill, and pushed up. Halfway up, an early milk chariot rat=
tled
by him; two dirty men with bundles came hurrying down. Hoopdriver felt sure
they were burglars, carrying home the swag.
It was up Kingston Hill that he first noticed a
peculiar feeling, a slight tightness at his knees; but he noticed, too, at =
the
top that he rode straighter than he did before. The pleasure of riding stra=
ight
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, a=
nd
two yawning youths, in dusty old black jackets and with dirty white comfort=
ers
about their necks, clearing up the planks and boxes and wrappers in the win=
dow,
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 m=
en?
Then round the corner to the right--bell banged furiously--and so along the
road to Surbiton.
Whoop for Freedom and Adventure! Every now and
then a house with an expression of sleepy surprise would open its eye as he
passed, and to the right of him for a mile or so the weltering Thames flash=
ed
and glittered. Talk of your joie de vivre. Albeit with a certain cramping s=
ensation
about the knees and calves slowly forcing itself upon his attention.
Now you must understand that Mr. Hoopdriver was
not one of your fast young men. If he had been King Lemuel, he could not ha=
ve
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 intimat=
e remoteness
of a counter leave their mark upon a man. It was an adventure for him to ta=
ke
one of the Young Ladies of the establishment to church on a Sunday. Few mod=
ern
young men could have merited less the epithet "Dorg." But I have
thought at times that his machine may have had something of the blade in its
metal. Decidedly it was a machine with a past. Mr. Hoopdriver had bought it
second-hand from Hare's in Putney, and Hare said it had had several owners.
Second-hand was scarcely the word for it, and Elare was mildly puzzled that=
he
should be selling such an antiquity. He said it was perfectly sound, if a
little old-fashioned, but he was absolutely silent about its moral characte=
r.
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.
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 exper=
ience
went. It "showed off"--the most decadent sinuosity. It left a tra=
ck
like one of Beardsley's feathers. He suddenly realised, too, that his cap w=
as loose
on his head and his breath a mere remnant.
The Young Lady in Grey was also riding a bicyc=
le.
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 ey=
es. 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 slanting=
ly.
She was travelling at about the same pace as Mr. Hoopdriver. The appearances
pointed to a meeting at the fork of the roads.
Hoopdriver was seized with a horrible conflict=
of
doubts. By contrast with her he rode disgracefully. Had he not better get o=
ff
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 ha=
nd,
what would happen if he kept on? To go very slow seemed the abnegation of h=
is
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 r=
oad
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 as=
ide.
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 suggesti=
ve of
a funeral.
Meanwhile the roads converged. She was looking=
at
him. She was flushed, a little thin, and had very bright eyes. Her red lips
fell apart. She may have been riding hard, but it looked uncommonly like a
faint smile. And the things were--yes!--RATIONALS! Suddenly an impulse to b=
olt from
the situation became clamorous. Mr. Hoopdriver pedalled convulsively, inten=
ding
to pass her. He jerked against some tin thing on the road, and it flew up
between front wheel and mud-guard. He twisted round towards her. Had the
machine a devil?
At that supreme moment it came across him that=
he
would have done wiser to dismount. He gave a frantic 'whoop' and tried to g=
et
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 h=
is
saddle into a clumsy entanglement. Then he began to tumble over sideways, a=
nd
completed the entire figure in a sitting position on the gravel, with his f=
eet
between the fork and the stay of the machine. The concussion on the gravel
shook his entire being. He remained in that position, wishing that he had
broken his neck, wishing even more heartily that he had never been born. The
glory of life had departed. Bloomin' Dook, indeed! These unwomanly women!
There was a soft whirr, the click of a brake, =
two
footfalls, and the Young Lady in Grey stood holding her machine. She had tu=
rned
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.
Mr. Hoopdriver stood up at once. "Not a
bit," he said, a little ruefully. He became painfully aware that large
patches of gravel scarcely improve the appearance of a Norfolk suit. "=
I'm
very sorry indeed--"
"It's my fault," she said, interrupt=
ing
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 t=
o be
sorry."
"But it was my steering--"
"I ought to have seen you were a
Novice"--with a touch of superiority. "But you rode so straight
coming along there!"
She really was--dashed pretty. Mr. Hoopdriver's
feelings passed the nadir. When he spoke again there was the faintest flavo=
ur
of the aristocratic in his voice.
"It's my first ride, as a matter of fact.=
But
that's no excuse for my ah! blundering--"
"Your finger's bleeding," she said,
abruptly.
He saw his knuckle was barked. "I didn't =
feel
it," he said, feeling manly.
"You don't at first. Have you any
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 o=
ff a
generous portion. He had a wild impulse to ask her to stick it on for him.
Controlled. "Thank you," he said.
"Machine all right?" she asked, look=
ing
past him at the prostrate vehicle, her hands on her handle-bar. For the fir=
st
time Hoopdriver did not feel proud of his machine.
He turned and began to pick up the fallen fabr=
ic.
He looked over his shoulder, and she was gone, turned his head over the oth=
er
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 soliloquie=
s.)
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. T=
he
Holiday madness was in his blood. She looked round!
At that he rushed his machine into the road, a=
nd
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 a=
nd
put his head down. He would overtake her.
The situation was primordial. The Man beneath
prevailed for a moment over the civilised superstructure, the Draper. He pu=
shed
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 v=
anished
round the corner. His effort was Titanic. What should he say when he overto=
ok
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 activ=
e!
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 th=
at
of shop girls for shop men.) Phew! This was work. A certain numbness came a=
nd
went at his knees.
"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 t=
o cry
out at him. A last tremendous effort brought him to the corner and showed y=
et
another extent of shady roadway, empty save for a baker's van. His front wh=
eel
suddenly shrieked aloud. "Oh Lord!" said Hoopdriver, relaxing.
Anyhow she was not in sight. He got off unstea=
dily,
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.
"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 produ=
ced
therefrom a brand-new cigarette case and a packet of Vansittart's Red Herri=
ng
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.
"She WAS a stunning girl," he said.
"I wonder if I shall ever set eyes on her again. And she knew how to r=
ide,
too! Wonder what she thought of me."
The phrase 'bloomin' Dook' floated into his mi=
nd
with a certain flavour of comfort.
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 e=
yes.
But it was a little different from the elation of his start.
"Look at the gentleman wizzer bicitle,&qu=
ot;
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.
"I WONDER--I should just like to know--&q=
uot;
There was something very comforting in the tra=
ck
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 ju=
st 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 s=
he
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.
=
In the fulness of time, Mr. Hoopdriver drew ne=
ar
the Marquis of Granby at Esher, and as he came under the railway arch and s=
aw
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 d=
rab
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 fac=
e.
But scarcely had he sat down before he got up again and stared out of the
doorway.
"Damn!" said he. Then, "Damned
Fool!"
"Eigh?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, looking
round suddenly with a piece of cheese in his cheek.
The man in drab faced him. "I called myse=
lf a
Damned Fool, sir. Have you any objections?"
"Oh!--None. None," said Mr. Hoopdriv=
er.
"I thought you spoke to me. I didn't hear what you said."
"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 phi=
losophy--!"
Mr. Hoopdriver looked as intelligent as he cou=
ld,
but said nothing.
"There's no hurry, sir, none whatever. I =
came
out for exercise, gentle exercise, and to notice the scenery and to botanis=
e.
And no sooner do I get on the accursed machine, than off I go hammer and to=
ngs;
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?"
Mr. Hoopdriver shook his head.
"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 doub=
t,
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 botto=
m;
and here I am dancing with rage and swearing like a drunken tinker at a per=
fect
stranger--
"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!&quo=
t;
He tossed his head with unspeakable self-disgu=
st,
pitched the lemon squash into his mouth, paid for it, and without any furth=
er
remark strode to the door. Mr. Hoopdriver was still wondering what to say w=
hen 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 yar=
ds
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.
=
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 w=
ent
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, whi=
ch
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 ag=
ain,
there was taking the hand or hands off the handlebar, a thing simple in its=
elf,
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.
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 bic=
ycle
students, as in the young of both sexes, its inutility is aggravated by its
persistent annoyance--it requires constant attention. Until one can ride wi=
th
one hand, and search for, secure, and use a pocket handkerchief with the ot=
her,
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 tr=
ifle
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 poc=
ket
handkerchief might have been in California for any good it was to him while=
he
was in the saddle.
Yet you must not think that because Mr. Hoopdr=
iver
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 w=
ould
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 qui=
te
how detestable huckaback is to roll--and the shop would be dusty and, perha=
ps,
the governor about and snappy. And here was quiet and greenery, and one muc=
ked
about as the desire took one, without a soul to see, and here was no wailin=
g of
"Sayn," no folding of remnants, no voice to shout, "Hoopdriv=
er,
forward!" And once he almost ran over something wonderful, a little, l=
ow,
red beast with a yellowish tail, that went rushing across the road before h=
im.
It was the first weasel he had ever seen in his cockney life. There were mi=
les
of this, scores of miles of this before him, pinewood and oak forest, purpl=
e, heathery
moorland and grassy down, lush meadows, where shining rivers wound their la=
zy
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 e=
nd
of it all,--the sea.
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 th=
at
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 stockin=
gs
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! Eve=
ry
half-mile or so his knees reasserted themselves, and he dismounted and sat
awhile by the roadside.
It was at a charming little place between Eshe=
r 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 in=
terview
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 t=
he
air of one born to the wheel. "A splendid morning," said Mr.
Hoopdriver, "and a fine surface."
"The morning and you and the surface be e=
verlastingly
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 th=
e wheel.
The other man in brown watched his receding aspect. "Greasy proletaria=
n,"
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 b=
een
to caricature me. It's Fortune's way with me. Look at his insteps on the
treadles! Why does Heaven make such men?"
And having lit a cigarette, the other man in b=
rown
returned to the business in hand.
Mr. Hoopdriver worked up the hill towards Cobh=
am
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 villa=
ge
and a proper pride drove him into the saddle again.
=
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. Hoopdriv=
er
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 hi=
m,
covered with heather and set with pines, and a yellow road running across i=
t, and
half a mile away perhaps, a little grey figure by the wayside waving someth=
ing
white. "Never!" said Mr. Hoopdriver with his hands tightening on =
the
handles.
He resumed the treadles, staring away before h=
im,
jolted over a stone, wabbled, recovered, and began riding faster at once, w=
ith
his eyes ahead. "It can't be," said Hoopdriver.
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 awhirlin=
g),
and then, "Blow my legs!"
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 wheel=
ing
her machine slowly along the road towards him, and admiring the pretty wood=
ed
hills towards Weybridge. She might have been unaware of his existence for a=
ll
the recognition he got.
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 certai=
nly capsize
if he lifted his cap. Perhaps that was her consideration. Even as he hesita=
ted
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=
.
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.
"What can I have the pleasure--" beg=
an
Mr. Haopdriver, insinuatingly. "I mean" (remembering his emancipa=
tion
and abruptly assuming his most aristocratic intonation), "can I be of =
any
assistance to you?"
The Young Lady in Grey bit her lower lip and s=
aid
very prettily, "None, thank you." She glanced away from him and m=
ade
as if she would proceed.
"Oh!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, taken aba=
ck
and suddenly crestfallen again. It was so unexpected. He tried to grasp the
situation. Was she coquetting? Or had he--?
"Excuse me, one minute," he said, as=
she
began to wheel her machine again.
"Yes?" she said, stopping and starin=
g a
little, with the colour in her cheeks deepening.
"I should not have alighted if I had
not--imagined that you--er, waved something white--" He paused.
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 frien=
d, 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--"
"Oh, quite!" said Mr. Hoopdriver,
bearing up in manly fashion against his bitter disappointment.
"Certainly."
"I'm awfully sorry, you know. Troubling y=
ou
to dismount, and all that."
"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 beyo=
nd
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.
"Nothing, thank you," she said
decisively. And immediately, "This IS the Ripley road?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Ripley is about two miles from here. According to the mile-stones.&qu=
ot;
"Thank you," she said warmly.
"Thank you so much. I felt sure there was no mistake. And I really am
awfully sorry--"
"Don't mention it," said Mr. Hoopdri=
ver.
"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."
He tried a quietly insinuating smile that he k=
new
for a grin even as he smiled it; felt she disapproved--that she despised hi=
m,
was overcome with shame at her expression, turned his back upon her, and be=
gan
(very clumsily) to mount. He did so with a horrible swerve, and went pedall=
ing
off, riding very badly, as he was only too painfully aware. Nevertheless, t=
hank
Heaven for the mounting! He could not see her because it was so dangerous f=
or
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! W=
ith
her education she was bound to see through him at once.
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?
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 g=
iven
her not an atom of offence. But for her just now there were weightier thing=
s to
think about, things that would affect all the rest of her life. She continu=
ed
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.
=
As Mr. Hoopdriver rode swaggering along the Ri= pley road, it came to him, with an unwarrantable sense of comfort, that he had s= een 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, w= as against him. The bicycle, torn from this attractive young woman, grew heavi= er 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.<= o:p>
They filled him with apprehension by looking at
the house which sheltered him, but the sight of his bicycle, propped in a d=
runk
and incapable attitude against the doorway, humping its rackety mud-guard a=
nd
leering at them with its darkened lantern eye, drove them away--so it seeme=
d 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 w=
as
wheeling his machine. Mr. Hoopdriver noted his flaxen moustache, his aquili=
ne
nose, his rather bent shoulders, with a sudden, vivid dislike.
The maid at the Unicorn is naturally a pleasant
girl, but she is jaded by the incessant incidence of cyclists, and Hoopdriv=
er'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 r=
oad--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 cou=
rage
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 t=
hen
scowled darkly.
But Hoopdriver remained stoutly in the doorway
until the other man in brown had disappeared into Flambeau's. Then he glanc=
ed
momentarily at the Golden Dragon, puckered his mouth into a whistle of
unconcern, and proceeded to wheel his machine into the road until a suffici=
ent
margin for mounting was secured.
Now, at that time, I say, Hoopdriver was rather
desirous than not of seeing no more of the Young Lady in Grey. The other ma=
n in
brown he guessed was her brother, albeit that person was of a pallid fairne=
ss, 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 ho=
t, especially
on the top of his head, and the virtue had gone out of his legs to digest h=
is
cold meat, and altogether his ride to Guildford was exceedingly intermitten=
t.
At times he would walk, at times lounge by the wayside, and every public ho=
use,
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 di=
eth 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 cycl=
e,
or a party of cyclists, would go by, with glittering wheels and softly runn=
ing
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.
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 sp=
ace
and refreshed himself with tea and bread and butter and jam,--the tea he dr=
ank
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 lear=
nt
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 geraniu=
ms
and brass plates commemorating the gentlemen who put them up, and its Guild=
hall
is a Tudor building, very pleasant to see, and in the afternoon the shops a=
re
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 ru=
ns
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 ca=
stle
early in the evening and paid his twopence to ascend the Keep.
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 goin=
g 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 u=
pland
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 vall=
ey.
He did not notice any one else had come up the
Keep after him until he heard a soft voice behind him saying: "Well, M=
ISS
BEAUMONT, here's the view." Something in the accent pointed to a jest =
in
the name.
"It's a dear old town, brother George,&qu=
ot;
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--"
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Hoopdriv=
er.
"Damn!" said the other man in brown, quite audibly, starting as he
followed her glance.
Mr. Hoopdriver, with a fine air of indifferenc=
e,
resumed the Weald. "Beautiful old town, isn't it?" said the other=
man
in brown, after a quite perceptible pause.
"Isn't it?" said the Young Lady in G=
rey.
Another pause began.
"Can't get alone anywhere," said the
other man in brown, looking round.
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 exac=
tly
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 m=
uch
too preoccupied with an analysis of his own share of these encounters. He f=
ound
it hard to be altogether satisfied about the figure he had cut, revise his
memories as he would.
Once more quite unintentionally he stumbled up=
on
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 torme=
nt.
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 bette=
r.
The customers were a secondary consideration, and it was only after the lap=
se
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.
There came into Mr. Hoopdriver's head the curi=
ous
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 t=
he
solution at last in despair, quite unable to decide upon the course he shou=
ld
take at the next encounter, whether he should scowl savagely at the couple =
or assume
an attitude eloquent of apology and propitiation.
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 d=
o.
On the contrary, he was always decorating his existence with imaginative ta=
gs,
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 resemblan=
ce
of their hero, a brown-haired young fellow commonly, with blue eyes and a f=
air
moustache, graceful rather than strong, sharp and resolute rather than clev=
er
(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 backgrou=
nd. 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 gentl=
eman
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 righteous=
ly
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 tou=
r of
the South Coast.
You must not think that there was any TELLING =
of
these stories of this life-long series by Mr. Hoopdriver. He never dreamt t=
hat
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 play=
wright
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. Af=
ter
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 foldi=
ngs 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--&qu=
ot;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 resc=
ue
of generalised beauty in distress from truculent insult or ravening dog.
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.
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 discov=
ered
that he was a dynamiter needing privacy. Upon that theory he procured the k=
ey,
explored the house carefully, said darkly that it might suit his special ne=
eds,
but that there were OTHERS to consult. The clerk, however, did not understa=
nd
the allusion, and merely pitied him as one who had married young and paired
himself to a stronger mind than his own.
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 qui=
te a
number of respectable excursionists at Hastings. In early days Mr. Hoopdriv=
er had
been, as his mother proudly boasted, a 'bit of a drawer,' but a conscientio=
us
and normally stupid schoolmaster perceived the incipient talent and had nip=
ped
it in the bud by a series of lessons in art. However, our principal charact=
er
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 standi=
ng
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.
=
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 Hogsbac=
k to
see the little lamps below and the little stars above come out one after an=
other;
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 electrici=
ty,
witnessing that flying-machines were "dead certain to come," and =
that
electricity was "wonderful, wonderful"; how he went and watched t=
he
billiard playing and said, "Left 'em" several times with an oracu=
lar
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-b=
ook
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.
At last he fell a-yawning so much that very
reluctantly indeed he set about finishing this great and splendid day. (Ala=
s!
that all days must end at last! ) He got his candle in the hall from a frie=
ndly
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,&quo=
t;
even as he had learnt it by rote from his mother nearly twenty years ago. A=
nd
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 h=
is
arm under the pillow. It is dark, and he is hidden; but if you could have s=
een
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 wa=
s,
after all, only a little child asleep.
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 disturb=
ed
by dreams.
After your first day of cycling one dream is
inevitable. A memory of motion lingers in the muscles of your legs, and rou=
nd
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 ov=
er precipices;
you hover in horrible suspense over inhabited towns, vainly seeking for a b=
rake
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, pedal=
ling
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 sw=
ore
at him and shouted to stop his career. There was the Putney heath-keeper, t=
oo,
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 s=
he 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 g=
one
as well. Nearer, nearer! it was fearful! and in another moment the houses w=
ere
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 fl=
ung
himself sideways to descend, forgetting how high he was, and forthwith he b=
egan
falling; falling, falling.
He woke up, turned over, saw the new moon on t=
he
window, wondered a little, and went to sleep again.
This second dream went back into the first
somehow, and the other man in brown came threatening and shouting towards h=
im.
He grew uglier and uglier as he approached, and his expression was intolera=
bly
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 beg=
an
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 wa=
s 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 l=
it
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 bef=
ore.
She was in grey as usual,--rationals,--and she had her bicycle leaning agai=
nst
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 fu=
ll
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. Hoopdr=
iver
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 travelli=
ng
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 grippi=
ng
her so familiarly enraged him frightfully; he leapt over the counter forthw=
ith
and gave chase. They ran round the shop and up an iron staircase into the K=
eep,
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 n=
ot
run very fast because he had hold of the Young Lady in Grey, but Mr. Hoopdr=
iver
was hampered by the absurd behaviour of his legs. They would not stretch ou=
t;
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 peo=
ple,
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 bedr=
oom
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....
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 t=
he
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 poss=
ibly
menacing brother, were ahead of him or even now breakfasting somewhere in G=
uildford.
In the former case he might loiter as he chose; in the latter he must hurry,
and possibly take refuge in branch roads.
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 mo=
re,
and dropped him as a terrier drops a walkingstick, upon the Portsmouth agai=
n, a
couple of miles from Godalming. He entered Godalming on his feet, for the r=
oad
through that delightful town is beyond dispute the vilest in the world, a m=
ere
tumult of road metal, a way of peaks and precipices, and, after a successfu=
l experiment
with cider at the Woolpack, he pushed on to Milford.
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 up=
on
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 accoun=
t.
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 g=
irl
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 tow=
er?
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 preci=
se,
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 c=
ame
about that he once more came upon his fellow travellers of yesterday, comin=
g 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.
His expression, as he shot out from the archwa=
y 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 mu=
tual
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 Hoopdri=
ver,
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 towa=
rds Haslemere
to make what he could of the swift picture that had photographed itself on =
his
brain.
"Rum," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "It=
's
DASHED rum!"
"They were having a row."
"Smirking--" What he called the other
man in brown need not trouble us.
"Annoying her!" That any human being
should do that!
"WHY?"
The impulse to interfere leapt suddenly into M=
r.
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 courag=
e firmly
lest it should slip away and leave him ridiculous. "I'll offer 'im a s=
crew
'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, a=
nd
the other man in brown looked exceedingly disconcerted. Mr. Hoopdriver desc=
ended
and stood over his machine.
"Nothing wrong, I hope?" he said,
looking the other man in brown squarely in the face. "No accident?&quo=
t;
"Nothing," said the other man in bro=
wn
shortly. "Nothing at all, thanks."
"But," said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a g=
reat
effort, "the young lady is crying. I thought perhaps--"
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."
"This lady," said the other man in
brown, explaining, "has a gnat in her eye."
There was a pause. The young lady busied herse=
lf
with her eye. "I believe it's out," she said. The other man in br=
own
made movements indicating commiserating curiosity concerning the alleged fl=
y.
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 hi=
m no
time, turned on him abruptly, even fiercely. "I hope," he said,
"that your curiosity is satisfied?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Then we won't detain you."
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 an=
d 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 purp=
le
masses of Hindhead, where Mr. Grant Allen writes his Hill Top Novels day by
day.
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 mass=
es
of gorse, and pine trees with their year's growth still bright green, again=
st
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 priva=
te
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 bo=
om,
but which some insidious turning prevented him from attaining.
It was one of my uncle's profoundest remarks t=
hat
human beings are the only unreasonable creatures. This observation was so f=
ar
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 a=
gain.
Memory and imagination played round her, so that his course was largely
determined by the windings of the road he traversed. Of one general proposi=
tion
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, a=
nd
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 danc=
e 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 l=
ean
over that counter and murmur, seemingly apropos of the goods under discussi=
on,
"I have not forgotten that morning on the Portsmouth road," and
lower, "I never shall forget."
At Northchapel Mr. Hoopdriver consulted his map
and took counsel and weighed his course of action. Petworth seemed a possib=
le
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 strang=
er,
and generally 'mucking about.' There were purple vetches in the hedges,
meadowsweet, honeysuckle, belated brambles--but the dog-roses had already g=
one;
there were green and red blackberries, stellarias, and dandelions, and in
another place white dead nettles, traveller's-joy, clinging bedstraw, grass=
es
flowering, white campions, and ragged robins. One cornfield was glorious wi=
th 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 s=
o.
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 t=
he
road, and there he dismounted, longing to take off shoes and stockings--tho=
se 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, smoki=
ng 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 t=
his
second day quite different from the first, an undertone of expectation,
anxiety, and something like regret that would not be ignored.
It was only late in the long evening that, qui=
te
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 emoti=
onal
colouring of our minds. The man was a sinister brute, Hoopdriver saw in a f=
lash
of inspiration, and the girl--she was in some serious trouble. And he who m=
ight
have helped her had taken his first impulse as decisive--and bolted. This n=
ew
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 troub=
le
afoot, to keep his eye upon it.
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."
He came into Midhurst by the bridge at the
watermill, and up the North Street, and a little shop flourishing cheerfull=
y,
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 rhym=
es
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 fe=
ll
across the road.
And now let us for a space leave Mr. Hoopdrive=
r in
the dusky Midhurst North Street, and return to the two folks beside the rai=
lway
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 m=
an
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 behi=
nd.
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,&quo=
t;
he said at last, "makes you conspicuous."
She turned upon him, her eyes and cheeks glowi=
ng,
her hands clenched. "You unspeakable CAD," she said, and choked,
stamped her little foot, and stood panting.
"Unspeakable cad! My dear girl! Possible =
I AM
an unspeakable cad. Who wouldn't be--for you?"
"'Dear girl!' How DARE you speak to me li=
ke
that? YOU--"
"I would do anything--"
"OH!"
There was a moment's pause. She looked squarely
into his face, her eyes alight with anger and contempt, and perhaps he flus=
hed
a little. He stroked his moustache, and by an effort maintained his cynical
calm. "Let us be reasonable," he said.
"Reasonable! That means all that is mean =
and
cowardly and sensual in the world."
"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."
With an impatient gesture she motioned him to =
go
on.
"Well," he said,--"you've
eloped."
"I've left my home," she corrected, =
with
dignity. "I left my home because it was unendurable. Because that
woman--"
"Yes, yes. But the point is, you have elo=
ped
with me."
"You came with me. You pretended to be my
friend. Promised to help me to earn a living by writing. It was you who sai=
d,
why shouldn't a man and woman be friends? And now you dare--you dare--"=
;
"Really, Jessie, this pose of yours, this
injured innocence--"
"I will go back. I forbid you--I forbid y=
ou
to stand in the way--"
"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."
"Haven't I been listening? And you have o=
nly
insulted me. You who dared only to talk of friendship, who scarcely dared h=
int
at anything beyond."
"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 play=
ed
with it--"
"You have said all that before. Do you th=
ink
that justifies you?"
"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 t=
his
expedition of yours, invented a sister at Midhurst--I tell you, I HAVEN'T a
sister! For one object--"
"Well?"
"To compromise you."
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--"
"My dear girl, you are still on the sunny
side of eighteen, and you know very little of this world. Less than you thi=
nk.
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 nerv=
ous--and
besides, the thought of being my wife offended your modesty. You didn't car=
e 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.
She looked into his eyes speechless. "I am
learning fast," she said slowly, at last.
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 t=
his
scheming, all this subterfuge, for any other object--"
She did not seem to listen to his words. "=
;I
shall ride home," she said abruptly.
"To her?"
She winced.
"Just think," said he, "what she
could say to you after this."
"Anyhow, I shall leave you now."
"Yes? And go--"
"Go somewhere to earn my living, to be a =
free
woman, to live without conventionality--"
"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."
"How CAN I?"
"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 los=
t 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--"
"How can I trust you?"
"Try me. I can assure you--"
She regarded him distrustfully.
"At any rate, ride on with me now. Surely=
we
have been in the shadow of this horrible bridge long enough."
"Oh! let me think," she said, half
turning from him and pressing her hand to her brow.
"THINK! Look here, Jessie. It is ten o'cl=
ock.
Shall we call a truce until one?"
She hesitated, demanded a definition of the tr=
uce,
and at last agreed.
They mounted, and rode on in silence, through =
the
sunlight and the heather. Both were extremely uncomfortable and disappointe=
d.
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 th=
ing would
keep in her mind, try as she would to ignore it. That was the quite irrelev=
ant
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.
=
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 t=
oo
close together, and in an uneasy silence) towards Haslemere; and this chapt=
er
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=
.
But first a word concerning wigs and false tee=
th.
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 nowad=
ays a
hairless creature by forty or fifty, and for hair we gave him a wig; shrive=
lled,
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 t=
he
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.
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 sim=
ple
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 a=
nd
read for all the time some strenuous, nerve-destroying business permits.
Pedagogic hypnotists, pulpit and platform hypnotists, book-writing hypnotis=
ts, 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 unrequi=
ted
toil is True Happiness, and down it goes with every symptom of pleasure. Th=
is
Ibsen, they say, is dull past believing, and we yawn and stretch beyond
endurance. Pardon! they interrupt, but this Ibsen is deep and delightful, a=
nd
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 t=
he 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 do=
es
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 ha=
ve 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 te=
eth
hard and saying' "I WILL go on."
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 prec=
ipitate.
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 b=
y 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 whe=
n to
be an eminent mathematician, say, or to edit a daily paper, seems as fine a=
n 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 in=
to.
We left Mr. Hoopdriver at the door of the litt=
le
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 n=
ame
of the bright-eyed, little old lady with whom Mr. Hoopdriver had stopped--i=
s the
Angel Hotel, and in the Angel Hotel, on the night that Mr. Hoopdriver reach=
ed
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 Portsmou=
th,
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 l=
ies
yawning to engulf your highly respectable cyclists, while Mrs. Wardor's gen=
ial
teapot is equally attractive to those who weigh their means in little scale=
s. 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.
Bechamel, tightening his chain in the Angel ya=
rd
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 p=
ass
out of sight up the street. Incontinently a mass of cloudy uneasiness, that=
had
been partly dispelled during the day, reappeared and concentrated rapidly i=
nto
definite suspicion. He put his screw hammer into his pocket and walked thro=
ugh
the archway into the street, to settle the business forthwith, for he prided
himself on his decision. Hoopdriver was merely promenading, and they met fa=
ce
to face.
At the sight of his adversary, something betwe=
en
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.
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?"
Mr. Hoopdriver, for some occult reason, resist=
ed
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, catc=
hing
his breath, yet bringing the question out valiantly, nevertheless,--"s=
ince
when 'ave you purchased the county of Sussex?"
"May I point out," said the other ma=
n 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."
"You can always," said Mr. Hoopdrive= r, "turn round if you don't like it, and go back the way you came."<= o:p>
"Oh-o!" said the other man in brown.
"THAT'S it! I thought as much."
"Did you?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, quit=
e at
sea, but rising pluckily to the unknown occasion. What was the man driving =
at?
"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."
Wonderful things were dawning on Mr. Hoopdrive=
r.
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--"
"We'll call it a communication," said
the other man.
"I can spare you the ten minutes," s=
aid
Mr. Hoopdriver, with dignity.
"This way, then," said the other man=
in
brown, and they walked slowly down the North Street towards the Grammar Sch=
ool.
There was, perhaps, thirty seconds' silence. The other man stroked his
moustache nervously. Mr. Hoopdriver's dramatic instincts were now fully awa=
ke.
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 w=
ere
well within Mr. Hoopdriver's range of reading, and he had not read them for
nothing.
"I will be perfectly frank with you,"
said the other man in brown.
"Frankness is always the best course,&quo=
t;
said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Well, then--who the devil set you on this
business?"
"Set me ON this business?"
"Don't pretend to be stupid. Who's your
employer? Who engaged you for this job?"
"Well," said Mr. Hoopdriver, confuse=
d.
"No--I can't say."
"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.
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.
"What!" said the other man in brown,
surprised. "Eigh?" And so saying he stowed it in his breeches poc=
ket.
"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--"
"My dear sir," said the other man in
brown, "I beg your pardon. I misunderstood you. I really beg your pard=
on.
Let us walk on. In your profession--"
"What have you got to say against my
profession?"
"Well, really, you know. There are detect=
ives
of an inferior description--watchers. The whole class. Private Inquiry--I d=
id
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."
It was lucky for Mr. Hoopdriver that in Midhur=
st
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 lau=
gh
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 co=
ughed.
"I don't see that it hurts you to tell me=
who
your employer is."
"Don't you? I do."
"Prompt," said Bechamel, appreciativ=
ely.
"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?"
"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.
Bechamel respected himself for his diplomatic
gifts. He tried to catch a remark by throwing out a confidence. "I tak=
e it
there are two people concerned in watching this affair."
"Who's the other?" said Mr. Hoopdriv=
er,
calmly, but controlling with enormous internal tension his self-appreciatio=
n.
"Who's the other?" was really brilliant, he thought.
"There's my wife and HER stepmother."=
;
"And you want to know which it is?"<= o:p>
"Yes," said Bechamel.
"Well--arst 'em!" said Mr. Hoopdrive=
r,
his exultation getting the better of him, and with a pretty consciousness of
repartee. "Arst 'em both."
Bechamel turned impatiently. Then he made a la=
st
effort. "I'd give a five-pound note to know just the precise state of
affairs," he said.
"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 wi=
th.
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 exist=
ed.
With that the interview terminated. Bechamel w=
ent
back to the Angel, perturbed. "Hang detectives!" It wasn't the ki=
nd
of thing he had anticipated at all. Hoopdriver, with round eyes and a wonde=
ring
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 murm=
urs
of, "Private Inquiry" and the like, returned, with mystery even in
his paces, towards the town.
That glee which finds expression in raised
eyebrows and long, low whistling noises was upon Mr. Hoopdriver. For a spac=
e 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 i=
nto
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 me=
ans
of pursuit. 'No expense was to be spared.'
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 wav=
e 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 appro=
val
to himself. It required an effort before he could walk into the Angel bar. =
"A
lemonade and bitter, please," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
He cleared his throat. "Are Mr. and Mrs.
Bowlong stopping here?"
"What, a gentleman and a young lady--on
bicycles?"
"Fairly young--a married couple."
"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. "Su=
re
you've got the name right, young man?"
"Quite," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Beaumont there is, but no one of the name
of--What was the name you gave?"
"Bowlong," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"No, there ain't no Bowlong," said t=
he
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?"
"Yes--they said they MIGHT be in Midhurst
tonight."
"P'raps they'll come presently. Beaumont's
here, but no Bowlong. Sure that Beaumont ain't the name?"
"Certain," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"It's curious the names being so alike. I
thought p'raps--"
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 natura=
l 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-nig=
ht.
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 l=
ooks
at her. 'I've settled the rooms,' she says, and 'e says 'damn!' just like t=
hat.
I can fancy my brother letting me boss the show like that."
"I dessay you do," said Mr. Hoopdriv=
er,
"if the truth was known."
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.
"She'll be a nice little lot to marry,&qu=
ot;
said the barmaid. "She'll be wearing the--well, b-dashes, as the sayin'
is. I can't think what girls is comin' to."
This depreciation of the Young Lady in Grey was
hardly to Hoopdriver's taste.
"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."
"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 t=
he
bar.
"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.
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 awa=
y 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 u=
p 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.
At first his thoughts were kinetic, of deeds a=
nd
not relationships. There was this malefactor, and his victim, and it had fa=
llen
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 bet=
ter
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 h=
im.
He recalled the exceedingly unpleasant incident of the railway bridge.
"Thin we won't detain yer, thenks," said Mr. Hoopdriver, aloud, i=
n a
strange, unnatural, contemptible voice, supposed to represent that of Becha=
mel.
"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 t=
he
other side of the door within earshot, well and good.)
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 dreami=
ng,
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 th=
irst
for revenge glutted by six or seven violent assaults, a duel and two vigoro=
us
murders, his mind came round to the Young Lady in Grey again.
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. Fan=
cy 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 acces=
sible.
And such weeping as he had seen before had been so much a matter of damp wh=
ite
faces, red noses, and hair coming out of curl. Your draper's assistant beco=
mes
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.
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 H=
E was?
He must be on the alert. If possible he must speak to her. Just a significa=
nt
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 h=
is
watch within good view of his pillow, on a nail that supported a kettle-hol=
der,
and sat down on his bed to undress. He lay awake for a little while thinkin=
g of
the wonderful possibilities of the morrow, and thence he passed gloriously =
into
the wonderland of dreams.
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 hav=
e his
breakfast downstairs in her kitchen, but that would have meant abandoning t=
he
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 hi=
m,
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!) brushi=
ng
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 whe=
re
the old stocks and the whipping posts are, and on to the Chichester road, a=
nd
he followed gallantly. So this great chase began.
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 stif=
f 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 li=
ke 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 remai=
ned
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.
The couple under observation occupied the inn =
so
long that Mr. Hoopdriver at the thought of their possible employment hunger=
ed
as well as thirsted. Clearly, they were lunching. It was a cloudless day, a=
nd the
sun at the meridian beat down upon the top of Mr. Hoopdriver's head, a show=
er
bath of sunshine, a huge jet of hot light. It made his head swim. At last t=
hey
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 per=
haps
for miles. He decided to return to the inn and snatch a hasty meal.
At the inn they gave him biscuits and cheese a=
nd 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 substa=
nce as
he emerged in the blinding sunshine, but even by the foot of the down the s=
un
was insisting again that his skull was too small for his brains. The hill h=
ad
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 w=
ould
feel if he were suddenly transferred to this planet, about three times as h=
eavy
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.
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 hi=
lls,
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 su=
n.
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 peew=
it
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 possess=
ed
by unreasonable contentment; he lit himself a cigarette and lounged more
comfortably. Surely the Sussex ale is made of the waters of Lethe, of poppi=
es
and pleasant dreams. Drowsiness coiled insidiously about him.
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 mach=
ine.
He whipped out his watch and saw that it was past two o'clock. "Lord l=
ove us,
fancy that!--But the tracks'll be all right," said Mr. Hoopdriver, whe=
eling
his machine back to the chalky road. "I must scorch till I overtake
them."
He mounted and rode as rapidly as the heat and=
a
lingering lassitude permitted. Now and then he had to dismount to examine t=
he
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 wonder=
ful
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 f=
lock
of sheep, and at last in the throat of the town cobbles and the stony stree=
ts
branching east, west, north, and south, at a stone cross under the shadow of
the cathedral the tracks vanished. "O Cricky!" said Mr. Hoopdrive=
r,
dismounting in dismay and standing agape. "Dropped anything?" sai=
d an
inhabitant at the kerb. "Yes," said Mr. Hoopdriver, "I've lo=
st
the spoor," and walked upon his way, leaving the inhabitant marvelling
what part of a bicycle a spoor might be. Mr. Hoopdriver, abandoning trackin=
g,
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 desist=
ed.
But what was to be done?
Hoopdriver was hot, tired, and hungry, and ful=
l of
the first gnawings of a monstrous remorse. He decided to get himself some t=
ea
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 c=
astle
of cards. What a fool he had been not to stick to them like a leech! He mig=
ht
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 teap=
ot.
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 cobb=
led
streets, to examine every muddy interstice! There was a chance by looking a=
bout
and inquiry at the various inns. Upon that he began. But of course they mig=
ht
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 Holm=
es--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 R=
ed
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 du=
st
with his shoes and fretting with disappointed pugnacity. A thwarted,
crestfallen Hoopdriver it was, as you may well imagine. And then suddenly t=
here
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!&q=
uot;
said Mr. Hoopdriver and swung round on his heel at once, and back to the Ro=
yal George,
helter skelter, for the bicycle they were minding for him. The ostler thoug=
ht
he was confoundedly imperious, considering his machine.
=
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 vita=
lly
deficient. He found her persistent coolness, her more or less evident conte=
mpt
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 him=
self
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.
Then there was this infernal detective. Becham=
el
had told his wife he was going to Davos to see Carter. To that he had fanci=
ed
she was reconciled, but how she would take this exploit was entirely proble=
matical.
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 fu=
sses
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 wa=
s to
be done. His imagination worked on a kind of matronly Valkyrie, and the noi=
se
of pursuit and vengeance was in the air. The idyll still had the front of t=
he
stage. That accursed detective, it seemed, had been thrown off the scent, a=
nd
that, at any rate, gave a night's respite. But things must be brought to an
issue forthwith.
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 f=
or
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.
He was white and vicious by this time, and his
anger quivered through his pose of brilliant wickedness.
"I will go to the station," she said.
"I will go back--"
"The last train for anywhere leaves at
7.42."
"I will appeal to the police--"
"You don't know them."
"I will tell these hotel people."
"They will turn you out of doors. You're =
in
such a thoroughly false position now. They don't understand unconventionali=
ty,
down here."
She stamped her foot. "If I wander about =
the
streets all night--" she said.
"You who have never been out alone after
dusk? Do you know what the streets of a charming little holiday resort are
like--"
"I don't care," she said. "I ca=
n go
to the clergyman here."
"He's a charming man. Unmarried. And men =
are
really more alike than you think. And anyhow--"
"Well?"
"How CAN you explain the last two nights =
to
anyone now? The mischief is done, Jessie."
"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.
"No," he said. "I love you.&quo=
t;
"Love!" said she.
"Yes--love."
"There are ways yet," she said, afte=
r a
pause.
"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. D=
on't
you think of it. You'll only shirk it when the moment comes, and turn it all
into comedy."
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 f=
or
some moments.
At last he spoke in as persuasive a voice as he
could summon. "Take it sensibly, Jessie. Why should we, who have so mu=
ch
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 woma=
n.
To find YOU too--conventional!"
She looked at him over her shoulder, and he
noticed with a twinge of delight how her little chin came out beneath the c=
urve
of her cheek.
"MAN!" she said. "Man to MY wom=
an!
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!"
"Your repartee is admirable, Jessie. I sh=
ould
say they do, though--all that and more also when their hearts were set on s=
uch
a girl as yourself. For God's sake drop this shrewishness! Why should you b=
e 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--"
"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 marrie=
d.
"'Tis only a pre-nuptial settlement,"=
; he
said, following that hint.
He paused.
"You must be sensible. The thing's your o=
wn
doing. Come out on the beach now the beach here is splendid, and the moon w=
ill
soon be high."
"I WON'T" she said, stamping her foo=
t.
"Well, well--"
"Oh! leave me alone. Let me think--"=
"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--&q=
uot;
"Oh, go--go."
"Very well. I will go. I will go and smok=
e a
cigar. And think of you, dear.... But do you think I should do all this if I
did not care?"
"Go," she whispered, without glancing
round. She continued to stare out of the window. He stood looking at her fo=
r 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.&quo=
t;
He would have gone up to her and laid his hand upon her, but he did not dar=
e to
do that yet. "I have you in my hand," he said, "in my power.=
Do
you hear--POWER!"
She remained impassive. He stared at her for h=
alf
a minute, and then, with a superb gesture that was lost upon her, went to t=
he
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 an=
d the
catch click as the door closed behind him.
=
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, h=
as
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 tha=
t 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 worl=
d of
Romance and Knight-errantry, divinely forgetful of his social position or h=
ers;
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 thre=
ad
and make a play of it now. The man was living. He did not pose when he alig=
hted
at the coffee tavern even, nor when he made his hasty meal.
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 jumpe=
d,
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 watch=
ed
Bechamel recede into the dimness up the esplanade, before he got up and wal=
ked
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 open=
ing
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.
She turned with a start, and looked at him with
something between terror and hope in her eyes.
"Can I--have a few words--with you,
alone?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, controlling his breath with difficulty. S=
he
hesitated, and then motioned the waiter to withdraw.
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 belie=
ve.
What can I do? I would do anything to help you."
Her brow puckered, as she watched him make, wi=
th
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.
She stepped a pace forward. "You are a
gentleman," she said.
"Yes," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Can I trust you?"
She did not wait for his assurance. "I mu=
st
leave this hotel at once. Come here."
She took his arm and led him to the window.
"You can just see the gate. It is still o=
pen.
Through that are our bicycles. Go down, get them out, and I will come down =
to
you. Dare you?
"Get your bicycle out in the road?"<= o:p>
"Both. Mine alone is no good. At once. Da=
re
you?"
"Which way?"
"Go out by the front door and round. I wi=
ll
follow in one minute."
"Right!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, and we=
nt.
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 no=
w.
He walked out of the hotel, along the front, and into the big, black-shadow=
ed coach
yard. He looked round. There were no bicycles visible. Then a man emerged f=
rom
the dark, a short man in a short, black, shiny jacket. Hoopdriver was caugh=
t.
He made no attempt to turn and run for it. "I've been giving your mach=
ines
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."=
;
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 wit=
h trembling
fingers. How was it to be done? Something behind the gate seemed to flutter.
The man must be got rid of anyhow.
"I say," said Hoopdriver, with an
inspiration, "can you get me a screwdriver?"
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 te=
pid
"Thanks," and incontinently had another inspiration.
"I say," he said again.
"Well?"
"This is miles too big."
The man lit the lantern, brought it up to
Hoopdriver and put it down on the ground. "Want a smaller
screwdriver?" he said.
Hoopdriver had his handkerchief out and sneeze= d 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.<= o:p>
"I ain't got none smaller than that,"
said the ostler.
"Won't do, really," said Hoopdriver,
still wallowing in his handkerchief.
"I'll see wot they got in the 'ouse, if y=
ou
like, sir," said the man. "If you would," said Hoopdriver. A=
nd
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.
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."
He passed the thing to her, touched her hand in
the darkness, ran back, seized Bechamel's machine, and followed.
The yellow light of the scullery door suddenly
flashed upon the cobbles again. It was too late now to do anything but esca=
pe.
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 ostl=
er
was in the gateway with a full-throated "HI! sir! That ain't allowed;&=
quot;
and Hoopdriver was overtaking the Young Lady in Grey. For some moments the
earth seemed alive with shouts of, "Stop 'em!" and the shadows wi=
th
ambuscades of police. The road swept round, and they were riding out of sig=
ht
of the hotel, and behind dark hedges, side by side.
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.
The ostler (being a fool) rushed violently down
the road vociferating after them. Then he returned panting to the Vicuna Ho=
tel,
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 fugitive=
s 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 m=
ore
precious time wondering 'what--EVER' was to be done! in which the two custo=
mers
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. Th=
en 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 t=
he
hall beyond the bar, walked with a resolute air to the foot of the staircas=
e,
and passed out of sight. You conceive the backward pitch of that exceptiona=
lly
shaped cranium? Incredulous eyes stared into one another's in the bar, as h=
is
paces, muffled by the stair carpet, went up to the landing, turned, reached=
the
passage and walked into the dining-room overhead.
"It wasn't that one at all, miss," s=
aid
the ostler, "I'd SWEAR"
"Well, that's Mr. Beaumont," said the
barmaid, "--anyhow."
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.
"Poor chap!" said the barmaid.
"She's a wicked woman!"
"Sssh!" said Stephen.
After a pause Bechamel went back to the
dining-room. They heard a chair creak under him. Interlude of conversational
eyebrows.
"I'm going up," said Stephen, "=
to
break the melancholy news to him."
Bechamel looked up from a week-old newspaper a=
s,
without knocking, Stephen entered. Bechamel's face suggested a different
expectation. "Beg pardon, sir," said Stephen, with a diplomatic
cough.
"Well?" said Bechamel, wondering sud=
denly
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,&q=
uot;
he would say; "I know how to calm her."
"Mrs. Beaumont," said Stephen.
"WELL?"
"Has gone."
He rose with a fine surprise. "Gone!"=
; he
said with a half laugh.
"Gone, sir. On her bicycle."
"On her bicycle! Why?"
"She went, sir, with Another Gentleman.&q=
uot;
This time Bechamel was really startled.
"An--other Gentlemen! WHO?"
"Another gentleman in brown, sir. Went in=
to
the yard, sir, got out the two bicycles, sir, and went off, sir--about twen=
ty
minutes ago."
Bechamel stood with his eyes round and his knu=
ckle
on his hips. Stephen, watching him with immense enjoyment, speculated wheth=
er
this abandoned husband would weep or curse, or rush off at once in furious
pursuit. But as yet he seemed merely stunned.
"Brown clothes?" he said. "And
fairish?"
"A little like yourself, sir--in the dark.
The ostler, sir, Jim Duke--"
Bechamel laughed awry. Then, with infinite fer=
vour,
he said--But let us put in blank cartridge--he said, "------!"
"I might have thought!"
He flung himself into the armchair.
"Damn her," said Bechamel, for all t=
he
world like a common man. "I'll chuck this infernal business! They've g=
one,
eigh?"
"Yessir."
"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."<= o:p>
Stephen was too surprised to say anything but
"Bourbon, sir?"
"Go on," said Bechamel. "Damn
you!"
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 w=
hich
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 figu=
re
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 pursu=
it,
and incontinently sat down again with a concussion that stirred the bar bel=
ow
to its depths. He banged the arms of the chair with his fist, and swore aga=
in.
"Of all the accursed fools that were ever spawned," he was chanti=
ng,
"I, Bechamel--" when with an abrupt tap and prompt opening of the
door, Stephen entered with the Bourbon.
=
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 h=
ow
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 d=
uel,
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 s=
een
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 he=
rs,
to compare with the soft glamour of the midsummer moon?
The road turned northward, going round through=
the
outskirts of Bognor, in one place dark and heavy under a thick growth of tr=
ees,
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 shrou=
ded
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 turni=
ng,
at a footfall, at a roughness in the road.
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 ankl=
es 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.
There is a magic quality in moonshine; it touc=
hes
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 strengt=
h of
Enidymion, and sees the dear white goddess shining at him from his Lady's e=
yes.
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 whi=
te 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. Overh=
ead,
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.
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 abruptl=
y.
Stunted oaks and thorns rose out of the haze of moonlight that was tangled =
in
the hedge on either side.
"You are safe," said Mr. Hoopdriver,
sweeping off his cap with an air and bowing courtly.
"Where are we?"
"SAFE."
"But WHERE?"
"Chichester Harbour." He waved his a=
rm
seaward as though it was a goal.
"Do you think they will follow us?"<= o:p>
"We have turned and turned again."
It seemed to Hoopdriver that he heard her sob.=
She
stood dimly there, holding her machine, and he, holding his, could go no ne=
arer
to her to see if she sobbed for weeping or for want of breath. "What a=
re
we to do now?" her voice asked.
"Are you tired?" he asked.
"I will do what has to be done."
The two black figures in the broken light were
silent for a space. "Do you know," she said, "I am not afrai=
d of
you. I am sure you are honest to me. And I do not even know your name!"=
;
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."=
;
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?"
"That man," she went on, after the
assent of his listening silence, "promised to help and protect me. I w=
as
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--"
"I know," said Hoopdriver.
"And now here I am--"
"I will do anything," said Hoopdrive=
r.
She thought. "You cannot imagine my
stepmother. No! I could not describe her--"
"I am entirely at your service. I will he=
lp
you with all my power."
"I have lost an Illusion and found a
Knight-errant." She spoke of Bechamel as the Illusion.
Mr. Hoopdriver felt flattered. But he had no
adequate answer.
"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.&qu=
ot;
"That was Chichester we were near?" =
she
asked.
"If," he meditated, with a tremble in
his voice, "you would make ME your brother, MISS BEAUMONT."
"Yes?"
"We could stop there together--"
She took a minute to answer. "I am going =
to
light these lamps," said Hoopdriver. He bent down to his own, and stru=
ck a
match on his shoe. She looked at his face in its light, grave and intent. H=
ow
could she ever have thought him common or absurd?
"But you must tell me your
name--brother," she said,
"Er--Carrington," said Mr. Hoopdrive=
r,
after a momentary pause. Who would be Hoopdriver on a night like this?
"But the Christian name?"
"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.
She came round obediently and took his machine,
and for a moment they stood face to face. "My name, brother Chris,&quo=
t;
she said, "is Jessie."
He looked into her eyes, and his excitement se=
emed
arrested. "JESSIE," he repeated slowly. The mute emotion of his f=
ace
affected her strangely. She had to speak. "It's not such a very wonder=
ful
name, is it?" she said, with a laugh to break the intensity.
He opened his mouth and shut it again, and, wi=
th 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 ha=
ve indicated,
the hour and season of the full moon.
=
Mr. Hoopdriver conducted the rest of that nigh=
t's
journey with the same confident dignity as before, and it was chiefly by go=
od
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 ti=
me
Hoopdriver bad dared the mysteries of a 'first-class' hotel.' But that nigh=
t he
was in the mood to dare anything.
"So you found your Young Lady at last,&qu=
ot;
said the ostler of the Red Hotel; for it chanced he was one of those of whom
Hoopdriver had made inquiries in the afternoon.
"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."
"We've had supper, thenks, and we're
tired," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "I suppose you won't take
anything,--Jessie?"
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 him=
self
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.
So gallantly did Mr. Hoopdriver comport himsel=
f 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 a=
t Midhurst.
But to think of all the things that had happened since then! He caught hims=
elf
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.
=
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 t=
he
course of events at any rate is safe from any fresh developments through th=
eir 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 stran=
ger,
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 sha=
re
in these transactions. Then this Mr. Hoopdriver of yours, roseate idiot tha=
t 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 me=
ans,
and immensely proud of himself in a somnolent way for these incomparable fo=
llies.
There are occasions when a moralising novelist can merely wring his hands a=
nd
leave matters to take their course. For all Hoopdriver knows or cares he ma=
y 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 b=
ody
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--
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 f=
or
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, dress=
ed
correctly, had severe notions of whom she might meet, went to church, and e=
ven
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.&qu=
ot;
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, b=
ut
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 to=
ok
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 ca=
bs, 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 Jess=
ie
been her own daughter--she showed the properest spirit. And she not only sh=
owed
it, but felt it.
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 unmi=
tigated
nuisance and had been willing enough to keep her in the background. And
Jessie--who had started this intercourse at fourteen with abstract objectio=
ns
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 sharpen=
ed
knife. There is very little deliberate wickedness in the world. The stupidi=
ty
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 lo=
sing
of it, was genuine enough.
You may imagine the comfort she got from her f=
riends,
and how West Kensington and Notting Hill and Hampstead, the literary suburb=
s,
those decent penitentiaries of a once Bohemian calling, hummed with the bus=
iness,
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 t=
hem
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 h=
er
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 independe=
nce,
it was said, an assertion of her Ego containing extensive and very annoying
quotations from "A Soul Untrammelled," and giving no definite int=
imation
of her plans--knowledge ceased. That note was shown to few, and then only in
the strictest confidence.
But on Friday evening late came a breathless M=
an
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 ba=
ck,--and
he testified hurriedly that at a place called Midhurst, in the bar of an ho=
tel
called the Angel, he had heard from a barmaid a vivid account of a Young La=
dy
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 risi=
ng
with her hand to her heart.
"It's impossible to-night. There are no m=
ore
trains. I looked on my way."
"A mother's love," she said. "I
bear her THAT."
"I know you do." He spoke with feeli=
ng,
for no one admired his photographs of scenery more than Mrs. Milton. "=
It's
more than she deserves."
"Oh, don't speak unkindly of her! She has
been misled."
It was really very friendly of him. He declare=
d he
was only sorry his news ended there. Should he follow them, and bring her b=
ack?
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 loo=
ked
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."
"He must marry her," said the man.
"She has no friends. We have no one. After
all--Two women.--So helpless."
And this fair-haired little figure was the wom=
an
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.
"Mrs. Milton," he said.
"Hetty!"
She glanced at him. The overflow was imminent. "Not now," she said, "not now. I must find her first."<= o: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."
"But can you spare time?" she said.
"For ME."
"For you--"
"But what can I do? what can WE do?"=
"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!"
She put out her hand and pressed his again.
"Courage!" he repeated, finding it so
well received.
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 emo=
tion
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."
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 d=
evotion,
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 friend=
s.
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.
"She is sorely troubled," said Dangl=
e to
Widgery. "We must do what we can for her."
"She is a wonderful woman," said Dan=
gle.
"So subtle, so intricate, so many faceted. She feels this deeply."=
;
Young Phipps said nothing, but he felt the mor=
e.
And yet they say the age of chivalry is dead!<= o:p>
But this is only an Interlude, introduced to g=
ive
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 Pa=
rty,
nor with Mrs. Milton's simple but becoming grey dress, with the healthy Wid=
gery'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 s=
ad
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 s=
hall
immediately hear.
Mr. Hoopdriver stirred on his pillow, opened h=
is
eyes, and, staring unmeaningly, yawned. The bedclothes were soft and pleasa=
nt.
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 ha=
ir
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 cloth=
es
he held about him, his face staring about the room. He held the clothes abo=
ut
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 ya=
rd,
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 ro=
om
again.
"Lord!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "It
wasn't a dream, after all."
"I wonder what they charge for these Juic=
ed
rooms!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, nursing one rosy foot.
He became meditative, tugging at his insuffici=
ent
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 mu=
st
be feeling It was a shave too--in the coach yard!"
Suddenly he became silent. Abruptly his eyebro=
ws
rose and his jaw fell. "I sa-a-ay!" said Mr. Hoopdriver.
He had never thought of it before. Perhaps you
will understand the whirl he had been in overnight. But one sees things cle=
arer
in the daylight. "I'm hanged if I haven't been and stolen a blessed
bicycle."
"Who cares?" said Mr. Hoopdriver,
presently, and his face supplied the answer.
Then he thought of the Young Lady in Grey agai=
n,
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.
Mr. Hoopdriver reached out his hand, took his
Norfolk jacket, laid it over his knees, and took out the money from the lit=
tle
ticket pocket. "Fourteen and six-half," he said, holding the coin=
s 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."
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.
"No good going back to Bognor.
"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 gra=
ve
note reasserted itself.
"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 f=
ix,
only worse. You see, I'm her Knight-errant. It complicates things so."=
His eye, wandering loosely, rested on the spon=
ge
bath. "What the juice do they want with cream pans in a bedroom?"
said Mr. Hoopdriver, en passant.
"Best thing we can do is to set out of he=
re
as soon as possible, anyhow. I suppose she'll go home to her friends. That
bicycle is a juicy nuisance, anyhow. Juicy nuisance!"
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!&quo=
t;
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.
"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."
He ran his hand over his chin, looked at himse=
lf
steadfastly for some time, and curled his insufficient moustache up with so=
me
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.&qu=
ot;
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.&quo=
t;
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=
.
"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?
"Beastly cheap, after all, this suit does
look, in the sunshine."
"No good, Hoopdriver. Anyhow, you don't t=
ell
yourself any lies about it. Lovers ain't your game,--anyway. But there's ot=
her
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. FORW=
ARD,
Hoopdriver! If you ain't a beauty, that's no reason why you should stop and=
be
copped, is it?"
And having got back in this way to a gloomy ki=
nd
of self-satisfaction, he had another attempt at his hair preparatory to lea=
ving
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.
He caused his 'sister' to be called repeatedly,
and when she came down, explained with a humorous smile his legal relations=
hip
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-ti=
ps
pink and cool. And how decided she was! Breakfast was a nervous ceremony, c=
onversation
fraternal but thin; the waiter overawed him, and he was cowed by a multipli=
city
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 pu=
blic
mounting of the bicycles in the street was a moment of trepidation. A polic=
eman
actually stopped and watched them from the opposite kerb. Suppose him to co=
me
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 stre=
ets
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.
"You've ridden out of Chichester in a gre=
at
hurry," said Jessie.
"Well, the fact of it is, I'm worried, ju=
st a
little bit. About this machine."
"Of course," she said. "I had
forgotten that. But where are we going?"
"Jest a turning or two more, if you don't
mind," said Hoopdriver.
"Jest a mile or so. I have to think of yo=
u,
you know. I should feel more easy. If we was locked up, you know--Not that I
should mind on my own account--"
They rode with a streaky, grey sea coming and =
going
on their left hand. Every mile they put between themselves and Chichester M=
r.
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. "Ne=
ver!"
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.&qu=
ot;
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.
Mr. Hoopdriver's mind came round to the future.
What was she going to do? What were they both going to do? His thoughts too=
k 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 in=
sist
gravely but firmly upon that. She was the spirited sort, of course, but sti=
ll--Wonder
if she had any money? Wonder what the second-class fare from Havant to Lond=
on
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 sket=
ch
of the return. The stepmother, repentant of her indescribable cruelties, wo=
uld
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 fe=
eling
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 dwindlin=
gly:
"Be kind to her--BE kind to her," and so depart, heartbroken to t=
he
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--"
"It is," said Mr. Hoopdriver. (Denis=
on,
was it? Denison, Denison, Denison. What was she saying?)
"I wonder how far you are willing to help
me?" Confoundedly hard to answer a question like that on the spur of t=
he
moment, without steering wildly. "You may rely--" said Mr.
Hoopdriver, recovering from a violent wabble. "I can assure you--I wan=
t to
help you very much. Don't consider me at all. Leastways, consider me entire=
ly
at your service." (Nuisance not to be able to say this kind of thing
right.)
"You see, I am so awkwardly situated.&quo=
t;
"If I can only help you--you will make me
very happy--" There was a pause. Round a bend in the road they came up=
on 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 mac=
hine
against a stone, sat down. "Here, we can talk," she said.
"Yes," said Mr. Hoopdriver, expectan=
t.
She answered after a little while, sitting, el=
bow
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."
"Of course," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Naturally."
"I want to Live, and I want to see what l=
ife
means. I want to learn. Everyone is hurrying me, everything is hurrying me;=
I
want time to think."
Mr. Hoopdriver was puzzled, but admiring. It w=
as
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."
"Don't YOU want to learn?" she asked=
.
"I was wondering only this morning,"=
he
began, and stopped.
She was too intent upon her own thoughts to no=
tice
this insufficiency. "I find myself in life, and it terrifies me. I see=
m 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 ask=
ed
it yesterday, and I ask it to-day. And little things happen and the days pa=
ss.
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 turn=
ing,
turning. It is horrible. I want to do a miracle like Joshua and stop the wh=
irl
until I have fought it out. At home--It's impossible."
Mr. Hoopdriver stroked his moustache. "It=
IS
so," he said in a meditative tone. "Things WILL go on," he s=
aid.
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 thr=
eads
against his knee. They flew on apart, and sank, as the breeze fell, among t=
he grass:
some to germinate, some to perish. His eye followed them until they had
vanished.
"I can't go back to Surbiton," said =
the
Young Lady in Grey.
"EIGH?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, catchin=
g at
his moustache. This was an unexpected development.
"I want to write, you see," said the
Young Lady in Grey, "to write Books and alter things. To do Good. I wa=
nt
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?"=
;
"H'mp," said Mr. Hoopdriver, very gr=
ave.
"I can't trouble you much more. You have
come--you have risked things--"
"That don't count," said Mr. Hoopdri=
ver.
"It's double pay to let me do it, so to speak."
"It is good of you to say that. Surbiton =
is
so Conventional. I am resolved to be Unconventional--at any cost. But we ar=
e 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 s=
hape
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 own=
ing
myself beaten--" She left the rest to his imagination.
"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 t=
hat
Jessie was trying to escape from an undesirable marriage, but was saying th=
ese things
out of modesty. His circle of ideas was so limited.
"You know, Mr.--I've forgotten your name
again."
Mr. Hoopdriver seemed lost in abstraction.
"You can't go back of course, quite like that," he said thoughtfu=
lly.
His ears waxed suddenly red and his cheeks flushed.
"But what IS your name?"
"Name!" said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Why!--Benson, of course."
"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 wr=
ite
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."
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 mig=
ht
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.)
"You are very good to me."
His expression was eloquent.
"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?"
"Eigh?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, feignin=
g 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 t=
heir
immediate plans for the day. They decided to ride easily, through Havant, a=
nd
stop, perhaps, at Fareham or Southampton. For the previous day had tried th=
em 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 irrel=
evantly,
"wouldn't look the same machine if I got a big, double Elarum instead =
of
that little bell."
"Why?"
"Jest a thought." A pause.
"Very well, then,--Havant and lunch,"
said Jessie, rising.
"I wish, somehow, we could have managed i=
t without
stealing that machine," said Hoopdriver. "Because it IS stealing =
it,
you know, come to think of it."
"Nonsense. If Mr. Bechamel troubles you--I
will tell the whole world--if need be."
"I believe you would," said Mr.
Hoopdriver, admiring her. "You're plucky enough--goodness knows."=
Discovering suddenly that she was standing, he,
too, rose and picked up her machine. She took it and wheeled it into the ro=
ad.
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?"
"It was jest a passing thought," said
Mr. Hoopdriver, airily. "Didn't MEAN anything, you know."
As they were riding on to Havant it occurred t=
o Mr.
Hoopdriver in a transitory manner that the interview had been quite other t=
han
his expectation. But that was the way with everything in Mr. Hoopdriver's e=
xperience.
And though his Wisdom looked grave within him, and Caution was chinking coi=
ns,
and an ancient prejudice in favour of Property shook her head, something el=
se
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 brot=
her
of all her slender strength and freshness, of having a golden, real, and
wonderful time beyond all his imaginings. His old familiar fancyings gave p=
lace
to anticipations as impalpable and fluctuating and beautiful as the sunset =
of a
summer day.
At Havant he took an opportunity to purchase, =
at
small hairdresser's in the main street, a toothbrush, a pair of nail scisso=
rs,
and a little bottle of stuff to darken the moustache, an article the shopma=
n introduced
to his attention, recommended highly, and sold in the excitement of the
occasion.
=
They rode on to Cosham and lunched lightly but
expensively there. Jessie went out and posted her letter to her school frie=
nd.
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 t=
urf,
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=
.
She had been observing him quietly, rather more
closely during the last hour or so. She did not look at him directly becaus=
e he
seemed always looking at her. Her own troubles had quieted down a little, a=
nd
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 th=
at
her knowledge of the world was rather less than nothing, having been obtain=
ed
entirely from books. You must not take a certain ignorance for foolishness.=
She had begun with a few experiments. He did n=
ot
know French except 'sivver play,' a phrase he seemed to regard as a very go=
od
light table joke in itself. His English was uncertain, but not such as book=
s 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 Mad=
am'
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 COUL=
D he
be?
"Mr. Benson," she said, breaking a
silence devoted to landscape.
He rolled over and regarded her, chin on knuck=
les.
"At your service."
"Do you paint? Are you an artist?"
"Well." Judicious pause. "I sho=
uld
hardly call myself a Nartist, you know. I DO paint a little. And sketch, you
know--skitty kind of things."
He plucked and began to nibble a blade of gras=
s.
It was really not so much lying as his quick imagination that prompted him =
to
add, "In Papers, you know, and all that."
"I see," said Jessie, looking at him
thoughtfully. Artists were a very heterogeneous class certainly, and genius=
es
had a trick of being a little odd. He avoided her eye and bit his grass.
"I don't do MUCH, you know."
"It's not your profession?
"Oh, no," said Hoopdriver, anxious n=
ow
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."
"Then you don't practise any regular
profession?" Mr. Hoopdriver looked into her eyes and saw their quiet u=
nsuspicious
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."
"I beg your pardon for cross-examining
you."
"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 b=
e a
barrister? That anyhow was something pretty good. But she might know about
barristry.
"I think I could guess what you are."=
;
"Well--guess," said Mr. Hoopdriver.<= o:p>
"You come from one of the colonies?"=
"Dear me!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, veer=
ing
round to the new wind. "How did you find out THAT?" (the man was =
born
in a London suburb, dear Reader.)
"I guessed," she said.
He lifted his eyebrows as one astonished, and
clutched a new piece of grass.
"You were educated up country."
"Good again," said Hoopdriver, rolli=
ng
over again into her elbow. "You're a CLAIRVOY ant." He bit at the
grass, smiling. "Which colony was it?"
"That I don't know."
"You must guess," said Hoopdriver.
"South Africa," she said. "I
strongly incline to South Africa."
"South Africa's quite a large place,"=
; he
said.
"But South Africa is right?"
"You're warm," said Hoopdriver,
"anyhow," and the while his imagination was eagerly exploring this
new province.
"South Africa IS right?" she insiste=
d.
He turned over again and nodded, smiling
reassuringly into her eyes.
"What made me think of South Africa was t=
hat
novel of Olive Schreiner's, you know--'The Story of an African Farm.' Grego=
ry
Rose is so like you."
"I never read 'The Story of an African
Farm,'" said Hoopdriver. "I must. What's he like?"
"You must read the book. But it's a wonde=
rful
place, with its mixture of races, and its brand-new civilisation jostling t=
he
old savagery. Were you near Khama?"
"He was a long way off from our place,&qu=
ot;
said Mr. Hoopdriver. "We had a little ostrich farm, you know--Just a f=
ew
hundred of 'em, out Johannesburg way."
"On the Karroo--was it called?"
"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. Bes=
ides
which it had occurred to him with a kind of shock that he was lying.
"What became of the ostriches?"
"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."
"Did you have Blacks and Boers about
you?"
"Lots," said Mr. Hoopdriver, strikin=
g a
match on his instep and beginning to feel hot at the new responsibility he =
had
brought upon himself.
"How interesting! Do you know, I've never
been out of England except to Paris and Mentone and Switzerland."
"One gets tired of travelling (puff) afte=
r a
bit, of course."
"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?"
"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."
"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."
"Fancy seeing a lion! Weren't you frighte=
ned?"
Mr. Hoopdriver was now thoroughly sorry he had accepted that offer of South Africa. He puffed his cigarette and regarded t= he 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."<= o:p>
"Go on," she said.
"I was going across the inner paddock whe=
re
the fatted ostriches were."
"Did you EAT ostriches, then? I did not
know--"
"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. Hoopdri=
ver
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 te=
ll
you. (Puff.) I just aimed at the end that I thought was the head. And let f=
ly.
(Puff.) And over it went, you know."
"Dead?"
"AS dead. It was one of the luckiest shot=
s I
ever fired. And I wasn't much over nine at the time, neither."
"I should have screamed and run away.&quo=
t;
"There's some things you can't run away from," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "To run would have been Death."<= o:p>
"I don't think I ever met a lion-killer
before," she remarked, evidently with a heightened opinion of him.
There was a pause. She seemed meditating furth=
er
questions. Mr. Hoopdriver drew his watch hastily. "I say," said M=
r.
Hoopdriver, showing it to her, "don't you think we ought to be getting
on?"
His face was flushed, his ears bright red. She
ascribed his confusion to modesty. He rose with a lion added to the burthen=
s 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 Porches=
ter
was reached--but talked instead of Living One's Own Life, and how custom hu=
ng
on people like chains. She talked wonderfully, and set Hoopdriver's mind
fermenting. By the Castle, Mr. Hoopdriver caught several crabs in little sh=
ore
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.
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 en=
tire
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 Widge=
ry
tugged at his moustache, and looked his unspeakable feelings at her with th=
ose
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 brav=
e,
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 rea=
lly
felt that exalted melancholy to the very bottom of her heart, and tried to =
show
it in a dozen little, delicate, feminine ways.
"There is nothing to do until we get to
Chichester," said Dangle. "Nothing."
"Nothing," said Widgery, and aside in
her ear: "You really ate scarcely anything, you know."
"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, tend=
er
and true," falling hard upon its heels. His name was Douglas-Douglas W=
idgery.
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 al=
l 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.
"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 inqui=
re
at the chief hotels to see if any one answering to her description has lunc=
hed
there."
"Oh, I'LL inquire," said Phipps.
"Willingly. I suppose you and Widgery will just hang about--"
He saw an expression of pain on Mrs. Milton's
gentle face, and stopped abruptly.
"No," said Dangle, "we shan't H=
ANG
ABOUT, as you put it. There are two places in Chichester where tourists mig=
ht
go--the cathedral and a remarkably fine museum. I shall go to the cathedral=
and
make an inquiry or so, while Widgery--"
"The museum. Very well. And after that
there's a little thing or two I've thought of myself," said Widgery.
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 t=
hat
it was nothing, and dispersed to their inquiries. By six they returned, the=
ir
zeal a little damped, without news. Widgery came back with Dangle. Phipps w=
as
the last to return. "You're quite sure," said Widgery, "that
there isn't any flaw in that inference of yours?"
"Quite," said Dangle, rather shortly=
.
"Of course," said Widgery, "the=
ir
starting from Midhurst on the Chichester road doesn't absolutely bind them =
not
to change their minds."
"My dear fellow!--It does. Really it does.
You must allow me to have enough intelligence to think of cross-roads. Real=
ly
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."
"We shall see at once," said Widgery=
, at
the window. "Here comes Phipps. For my own part--"
"Phipps!" said Mrs. Milton. "Is=
he
hurrying? Does he look--" She rose in her eagerness, biting her trembl=
ing
lip, and went towards the window.
"No news," said Phipps, entering.
"Ah!" said Widgery.
"None?" said Dangle.
"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."
"What question?" said Mrs. Milton, in
the shadow of the window. She spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper.
"Why--Have you seen a young lady in a grey
bicycling costume?"
Dangle caught at his lower lip. "What's
that?" he said. "Yesterday! A man asking after her then! What can
THAT mean?"
"Heaven knows," said Phipps, sitting
down wearily. "You'd better infer."
"What kind of man?" said Dangle.
"How should I know?--in bicycling costume,
the fellow said."
"But what height?--What complexion?"=
"Didn't ask," said Phipps. "DID=
N'T
ASK! Nonsense," said Dangle.
"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."
"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."
Phipps' mouth opened and shut.
"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 wou=
ld
bring you any nearer to her." Pause. "I WOULD like a little
tea."
"I don't want to raise any false hopes,&q=
uot;
said Widgery. "But I do NOT believe they even came to Chichester. Dang=
le's
a very clever fellow, of course, but sometimes these Inferences of his--&qu=
ot;
"Tchak!" said Phipps, suddenly.
"What is it?" said Mrs. Milton.
"Something I've forgotten. I went right o=
ut
from here, went to every other hotel in the place, and never thought--But n=
ever
mind. I'll ask when the waiter comes."
"You don't mean--" A tap, and the do=
or
opened. "Tea, m'm? yes, m'm," said the waiter.
"One minute," said Phipps. "Was=
a
lady in grey, a cycling lady--"
"Stopped here yesterday? Yessir. Stopped =
the
night. With her brother, sir--a young gent."
"Brother!" said Mrs. Milton, in a low
tone. "Thank God!"
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.
"Havant! Where's Havant?" said Phipp=
s.
"I seem to remember it somewhere."
"Was the man tall?" said Mrs. Milton,
intently, "distinguished looking? with a long, flaxen moustache? and s=
poke
with a drawl?"
"Well," said the waiter, and thought.
"His moustache, m'm, was scarcely long--scrubby more, and young
looking."
"About thirty-five, he was?"
"No, m'm. More like five and twenty. Not
that."
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Milton, speakin=
g 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."
"That will do, thank you," said Widg=
ery,
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 Dangl=
e,
who was entering the room, panting excitedly and with a pocket handkerchief
held to his right eye. "Hullo!" said dangle. "What's up?&quo=
t;
"What's up with YOU?" said Phipps.
"Nothing--an altercation merely with that
drunken ostler of yours. He thought it was a plot to annoy him--that the Yo=
ung
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?"
"Did the man hit you?" asked Widgery=
.
Mrs. Milton rose and approached Dangle.
"Cannot I do anything?"
Dangle was heroic. "Only tell me your
news," he said, round the corner of the handkerchief.
"It was in this way," said Phipps, a=
nd
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 pou=
red
two cups, and Phipps and Dangle partook in passover form. They caught the t=
rain
by a hair's breadth. So to Havant and inquiries.
Dangle was puffed up to find that his guess of
Havant was right. In view of the fact that beyond Havant the Southampton ro=
ad
has a steep hill continuously on the right-hand side, and the sea on the le=
ft,
he hit upon a magnificent scheme for heading the young folks off. He and Mr=
s. 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 tra=
in
if they had no news. If they did not come on, a wire to the Fareham post of=
fice
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.
Moreover, the scheme answered to perfection. T=
he
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 a=
way
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.
"Ah! A conveyance," said Dangle.
"One minute."
He left her in a most pathetic attitude, with =
her
hand pressed to her heart, and rushed into the Golden Anchor. Dog cart in t=
en
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."
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 energ=
etic
and devoted; but for a kindly, helpful manner commend her to Douglas Widger=
y.
Meanwhile Dangle, his face golden in the eveni=
ng
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 kn=
ow what
gigs are,--huge, big, wooden things and very high and the horse, too, was h=
uge
and big and high, with knobby legs, a long face, a hard mouth, and a whacki=
ng
trick of pacing. Smack, smack, smack, smack it went along the road, and har=
d by
the church it shied vigorously at a hooded perambulator.
The history of the Rescue Expedition now becom=
es
confused. It appears that Widgery was extremely indignant to find Mrs. Milt=
on
left about upon the Fareham platform. The day had irritated him somehow, th=
ough
he had started with the noblest intentions, and he seemed glad to find an o=
utlet
for justifiable indignation. "He's such a spasmodic creature," sa=
id
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."
"He means to help me," said Mrs. Mil=
ton,
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."
"I can go on," she said brightly,
"if only we find her." "While I was cooling my heels in Cosh=
am 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 inevitab=
le.
To-morrow Sunday, Winchester a cathedral town, road going nowhere else of t=
he
slightest importance.
"But Mr. Dangle?"
"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--"
"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.
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 se=
emed
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.
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. F=
rom
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, ther=
e 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 hi=
m across
the cutting. It was the event of a second. Dangle seemed to jump, hang in t=
he
air momentarily, and vanish, and after a moment's pause came a heart-rending
smash. Then two black heads running swiftly.
"Better get out," said Phipps to Mrs.
Milton, who stood fascinated in the doorway.
In another moment all three were hurrying up t=
he
steps. They found Dangle, hatless, standing up with cut hands extended, hav=
ing
his hands brushed by an officious small boy. A broad, ugly road ran downhil=
l 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 a=
re
not concerned now with the horse, but with Dangle. "Hurt?" asked
Phipps, eagerly, leading.
"Mr. Dangle!" cried Mrs. Milton, cla=
sping
her hands.
"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."
"Caught them!" said Widgery. "W=
here
are they?"
"Up there," he said, with a backward
motion of his head. "About a mile up the hill. I left 'em. I HAD to.&q=
uot;
"I don't understand," said Mrs. Milt=
on,
with that rapt, painful look again. "Have you found Jessie?"
"I have. I wish I could wash the gravel o=
ut
of my hands somewhere. It was like this, you know. Came on them suddenly ro=
und
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 lon=
g as
I did, I mean. I just shouted, 'Return to your friends. All will be forgive=
n.'
And off I came, clatter, clatter. Whether they heard--"
"TAKE ME TO HER," said Mrs. Milton, =
with
intensity, turning towards Widgery.
"Certainly," said Widgery, suddenly
becoming active. "How far is it, Dangle?"
"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, w=
here
shall I wash the gravel out? And have a look at my knee?"
"There's the station," said Phipps,
becoming helpful. Dangle made a step, and a damaged knee became evident.
"Take my arm," said Phipps.
"Where can we get a conveyance?" ask=
ed
Widgery of two small boys.
The two small boys failed to understand. They
looked at one another.
"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."
"There's a harse all right," said on=
e of
the small boys with a movement of the head.
"Don't you know where we can hire
traps?" asked Widgery. "Or a cart or--anything?" asked Mrs.
Milton.
"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 feythe=
r,
for's leg us broke."
"Not a cart even! Evidently. What shall we
do?"
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--"
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--"
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, "Whe=
re
are the Knights of the Olden Time?" and feeling tired to death and hun=
gry
and dusty and out of curl, and, in short, a martyr woman.
=
It goes to my heart to tell of the end of that
day, how the fugitives vanished into Immensity; how there were no more trai=
ns
how Botley stared unsympathetically with a palpable disposition to derision,
denying conveyances how the landlord of the Heron was suspicious, how the n=
ext 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 w=
hole
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 pl=
ayed
like summer lightning on the edge of the conversation. And deep in the hear=
ts
of all was a galling sense of the ridiculous. Jessie, they thought, was mos=
t 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 deli=
ghts
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 flic=
k us
off at last, mere mud from her wheel, into this detestable village beer-hou=
se
on a Saturday night! And she had done it, not for Love and Passion, which a=
re
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 sti=
ll
as one much misguided, as one who burthened us with anxiety, as a lamb astr=
ay, and
Mrs. Milton having eaten, continued to show the finest feelings on the matt=
er.
She sat, I may mention, in the cushioned
basket-chair, the only comfortable chair in the room, and we sat on incredi=
bly
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 tranqu=
il
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.
"I feel," she said, "that I am =
to
blame. I have Developed. That first book of mine--I do not go back upon a w=
ord
of it, mind, but it has been misunderstood, misapplied."
"It has," said Widgery, trying to lo=
ok
so deeply sympathetic as to be visible in the dark. "Deliberately misu=
nderstood."
"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.
"It is possible," said Dangle,
scrutinising his sticking-plaster.
"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 Teachi=
ng.
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 cap=
ital
is wrong. Only we cannot begin while we are so few. It is Those Others.&quo=
t;
"Precisely," said Widgery. "It =
is
Those Others. They must begin first."
"And meanwhile you go on banking--"<= o:p>
"If I didn't, some one else would."<= o:p>
"And I live on Mr. Milton's Lotion while I
try to gain a footing in Literature."
"TRY!" said Phipps. "You HAVE d=
one
so." And, "That's different," said Dangle, at the same time.=
"You are so kind to me. But in this matte=
r.
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.&quo=
t;
"Jessica is only seventeen, and girlish f=
or
that," said Dangle.
"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 particul=
ar.
Fancy, SLEEPING away from home. It's dreadful--If it gets about it spells r=
uin for
her."
"Ruin," said Widgery.
"No man would marry a girl like that,&quo=
t;
said Phipps.
"It must be hushed up," said Dangle.=
"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--"
"I often feel the force of that," sa=
id
Widgery. "Those are my rules. Of course my books--"
"It's different, altogether different,&qu=
ot;
said Dangle. "A novel deals with typical cases."
"And life is not typical," said Widg=
ery,
with immense profundity.
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 hi=
s 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 unha=
ppy
because he had been so cross to her at the station, and because so far he d=
id
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?
=
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 intere= st 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, som= e 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 ignoran= ce. 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 Jessi= e by her name, had backed towards the hedge for no ostensible reason, and vanish= ed to the accomplishment of the Fate that had been written down for him from t= he very beginning of things. Jessie and Hoopdriver had scarcely time to stand up and seize their machines, before this tumultuous, this swift and wonderful pass= ing 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.<= o:p>
"He knew my name," said Jessie.
"Yes--it was Mr. Dangle."
"That was our bicycles did that," sa=
id
Mr. Hoopdriver simultaneously, and speaking with a certain complacent conce=
rn.
"I hope he won't get hurt."
"That was Mr. Dangle," repeated Jess=
ie,
and Mr. Hoopdriver heard this time, with a violent start. His eyebrows went=
up
spasmodically.
"What! someone you know?"
"Yes."
"Lord!"
"He was looking for me," said Jessie.
"I could see. He began to call to me before the horse shied. My stepmo=
ther
has sent him."
Mr. Hoopdriver wished he had returned the bicy=
cle
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 t=
his
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."
Jessie, he saw, had wheeled her machine into t= he 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 a= nd swerving dangerously as he did so. Occasionally Jessie had to slacken her p= ace. 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 du= sky, 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 o= f 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.<= o: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 r=
emark,
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 pla=
ce
with infinite easy dignity, and had bowingly opened the door for Jessie.
"Who's that, then?" he imagined people saying; and then, "So=
me'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 adula=
tion
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 anot=
her.
"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 menti=
on
no higher things--"
Such, I say, had been the filmy, delightful st=
uff
in Mr. Hoopdriver's head the moment before he heard that remark. But the re=
mark
toppled him headlong. What the precise remark was need not concern us. It w=
as 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.
The remark, I must add, implicated Mr. Hoopdri=
ver.
It indicated an entire disbelief in his social standing. At a blow, it
shattered all the gorgeous imaginative fabric his mind had been rejoicing i=
n.
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 b=
een
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 poss=
ible
he did not know at the time that his stray shot had hit. He had thrown it a=
s a
boy throws a stone at a bird. And it not only demolished a foolish, happy
conceit, but it wounded. It touched Jessie grossly.
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 pa=
rlor
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 cou=
rtly
way, opened the door for her and bowed her out. He stood listening and fear=
ing
some new offence as she went upstairs, and round the bend where the baromet=
er
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 thro=
ugh supper
he had been composing stinging repartee, a blistering speech of denunciatio=
n 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 h=
is
wake. It really ought to be done.
"Teach 'em better," he said fiercely,
and tweaked his moustache painfully. What was it? He revived the objectiona=
ble
remark for his own exasperation, and then went over the heads of his speech
again.
He coughed, made three steps towards the door,
then stopped and went back to the hearthrug. He wouldn't--after all. Yet wa=
s 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.
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 scowl=
ing
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, w=
ho
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.
"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."
"Very pleasant day we've been 'aving,&quo=
t;
said the fair young man with the white tie.
"Very," said Mr. Hoopdriver, slowly;=
and
taking a brown armchair, he planted it with great deliberation where he fac=
ed
the fireplace, and sat down. Let's see--how did that speech begin?
"Very pleasant roads about here," sa=
id
the fair young man with the white tie.
"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!"<= o:p>
"Oh!" said the young man with the
gaiters, apparently making a mental inventory of his pearl buttons as he sp=
oke.
"How's that?"
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 alread=
y 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 c=
ame
here, sir," said Mr. Hoopdriver, and paused to inflate his cheeks,
"with a lady."
"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."=
"I came here," said Mr. Hoopdriver,
"with a lady."
"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."=
Mr. Hoopdriver coughed. "I came, here,
sir--"
"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.
Mr. Hoopdriver temporarily lost his thread. He
glared malignantly at the little man with the beard, and tried to recover h=
is
discourse. A pause.
"You were saying," said the fair you=
ng
man with the white tie, speaking very politely, "that you came here wi=
th a
lady."
"A lady," meditated the gaiter gazer=
.
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.
"Some dirty cad," said Mr. Hoopdrive=
r,
proceeding with his discourse, and suddenly growing extremely fierce,
"made a remark as we went by this door."
"Steady on!" said the old gentleman =
with
many chins. "Steady on! Don't you go a-calling us names, please."=
"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 show=
ed
he wasn't fit to wipe boots on, and, with all due deference to such gentlem=
en
as ARE gentlemen" (Mr. Hoopdriver looked round for moral support), &qu=
ot;I
want to know which it was."
"Meanin'?" said the fair young man in
the white tie.
"That I'm going to wipe my boots on 'im
straight away," said Mr. Hoopdriver, reverting to anger, if with a sli=
ght
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 cou=
ld 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.
"'Ullo, Charlie!" said the little ma=
n,
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 surpris=
e.
"I am," said Mr. Hoopdriver, with
emphatic resolution, and glared in the young man's face.
"That's fair and reasonable," said t=
he
man in the velveteen jacket; "if you can."
The interest of the meeting seemed transferred=
to
the young man in the white tic. "Of course, if you can't find out whic=
h it
is, I suppose you're prepared to wipe your boots in a liberal way on everyb=
ody
in the room," said this young man, in the same tone of impersonal
question. "This gentleman, the champion lightweight--"
"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."
"Was it this--gent?" began Mr.
Hoopdriver.
"Of course," said the young man in t=
he
white tie, "when it comes to talking of wiping boots--"
"I'm not talking; I'm going to do it,&quo=
t;
said Mr. Hoopdriver.
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 busines=
s-like
calm, and arms more angular than ever.
"Eat 'im!" said the little man with =
the
beard; "eat 'im straight orf."
"Steady on!" said the young man in t=
he
white tie. "Steady on a minute. If I did happen to say--"
"You did, did you?" said Mr. Hoopdri=
ver.
"Backing out of it, Charlie?" said t=
he
young man with the gaiters.
"Not a bit," said Charlie. "Sur=
ely
we can pass a bit of a joke--"
"I'm going to teach you to keep your joke=
s to
yourself," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Bray-vo!" said the shepherd of the
flock of chins.
"Charlie IS a bit too free with his
jokes," said the little man with the beard.
"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 dir=
ty
little greaser must needs go shouting insults--"
"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--"
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."
"Ginger beer," said the little man w=
ith
the beard, in a confidential tone to the velveteen jacket, "is regular=
up
this 'ot weather. Bustin' its bottles it is everywhere."
"What's the good of scrapping about in a
public-house?" said Charlie, appealing to the company. "A fair fi=
ght
without interruptions, now, I WOULDN'T mind, if the gentleman's so
disposed."
Evidently the man was horribly afraid. Mr.
Hoopdriver grew truculent.
"Where you like," said Mr. Hoopdrive=
r,
"jest wherever you like."
"You insulted the gent," said the ma=
n in
velveteen.
"Don't be a bloomin' funk, Charlie,"
said the man in gaiters. "Why, you got a stone of him, if you got an
ounce."
"What I say, is this," said the gent=
leman
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 prepare=
d to
back 'em up."
"I'll BACK 'em up all right," said
Charlie, with extremely bitter emphasis on 'back.' "If the gentleman l=
ikes
to come Toosday week--"
"Rot!" chopped in Hoopdriver.
"Now."
"'Ear, 'ear," said the owner of the
chins.
"Never put off till to-morrow, Charlie, w=
hat
you can do to-day," said the man in the velveteen coat.
"You got to do it, Charlie," said the
man in gaiters. "It's no good."
"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?"
"If you don't want your face sp'iled,
Charlie, why don't you keep your mouth shut?" said the person in gaite=
rs.
"Exactly," said Mr. Hoopdriver, driv=
ing
it home with great fierceness. "Why don't you shut your ugly mouth?&qu=
ot;
"It's as much as my situation's worth,&qu=
ot;
protested Charlie.
"You should have thought of that
before," said Hoopdriver.
"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--"
Everybody began to speak at once. Mr. Hoopdriv=
er
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 o=
ver
the tumult.
"You're regular abject," the man in
gaiters was saying to Charlie.
More confusion.
"Only don't think I'm afraid,--not of a
spindle-legged cuss like him," shouted Charlie. "Because I
ain't."
"Change of front," thought Hoopdrive=
r, a
little startled. "Where are we going?"
"Don't sit there and be abusive," sa=
id
the man in velveteen. "He's offered to hit you, and if I was him, I'd =
hit
you now."
"All right, then," said Charlie, wit=
h 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 horrib=
le
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 dignif=
ied,
scornful remonstrance! How the juice had it all happened? Go round the tabl=
e at
him, I suppose. But before the brawl could achieve itself, the man in gaite=
rs
intervened. "Not here," he said, stepping between the antagonists.
Everyone was standing up.
"Charlie's artful," said the little =
man
with the beard.
"Buller's yard," said the man with t=
he
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 li=
fe.
Outwardly, so far as the intermittent moonlight
showed, Mr. Hoopdriver was quietly but eagerly prepared to fight. But inwar=
dly
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 h=
ad
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 the=
ir
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 horro=
r 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 Charl=
es
kindly but firmly by the arm.
"It's blasted rot," Charles was sayi=
ng,
"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 nig=
ht
like I 'ave.--No need to numb my arm, IS there?"
They went into Buller's yard through gates. Th=
ere
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 cl=
ear
black shadow on the whitewashed wall. And here it was his face was to be ba=
ttered
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 gro=
und
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 bedroo=
m?
They couldn't make, him come out--anyhow. He could prosecute them for assau=
lt
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.
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 w=
as
the sole gleam of pleasure he experienced during the fight, and it was quit=
e 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 fe=
lt
that his heart was smashed flat. "Gord darm!" said somebody, danc=
ing
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 les=
s.
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. An=
other
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 a=
nd
wonderful truth--Charles had fled. He, Hoopdriver, had fought and, by all t=
he
rules of war, had won.
"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.
"The fact of it is," said Mr.
Hoopdriver, sitting beside the road to Salisbury, and with the sound of dis=
tant
church bells in his cars, "I had to give the fellow a lesson; simply h=
ad
to."
"It seems so dreadful that you should hav=
e to
knock people about," said Jessie.
"These louts get unbearable," said M=
r.
Hoopdriver. "If now and then we didn't give them a lesson,--well, a la=
dy
cyclist in the roads would be an impossibility."
"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."
"It was nothing more than my juty--as a
gentleman," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"But to walk straight into the face of
danger!"
"It's habit," said Mr. Hoopdriver, q=
uite
modestly, flicking off a particle of cigarette ash that had settled on his
knee.
=
On Monday morning the two fugitives found
themselves breakfasting at the Golden Pheasant in Blandford. They were in t=
he
course of an elaborate doubling movement through Dorsetshire towards Ringwo=
od,
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 f=
irst
Jessie had been only an impressionist sketch upon his mind, something femin=
ine,
active, and dazzling, something emphatically "above" him, cast in=
to
his company by a kindly fate. His chief idea, at the outset, as you know, h=
ad
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 exclu=
siveness
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 perceive=
d that
he himself had thought as much from his earliest years. "Of course,&qu=
ot;
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."
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 proposa=
l to
go to church. He discussed church-going in a liberal spirit. "It's jes=
t a
habit," he said, "jest a custom. I don't see what good it does yo=
u 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 h=
is 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 p=
resently
to be writing books.
It was on Jessie's initiative that they attend=
ed
service in the old-fashioned gallery of Blandford church. Jessie's conscien=
ce,
I may perhaps tell you, was now suffering the severest twinges. She perceiv=
ed clearly
that things were not working out quite along the lines she had designed-. S=
he
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 k=
new
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 tha=
t 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 "D=
utch
Republic," to help her through the rapids of adolescence.
Jessie's feelings for her stepmother's househo=
ld
at Surbiton amounted to an active detestation. There are no graver or more
solemn women in the world than these clever girls whose scholastic advancem=
ent
has retarded their feminine coquetry. In spite of the advanced tone of 'Tho=
mas 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' an=
noyed
her to an altogether unreasonable degree. To return to this life of ridicul=
ous
unreality--unconditional capitulation to 'Conventionality' was an exasperat=
ing
prospect. Yet what else was there to do? You will understand, therefore, th=
at
at times she was moody (and Mr. Hoopdriver respectfully silent and attentiv=
e)
and at times inclined to eloquent denunciation of the existing order of thi=
ngs.
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 amount=
ed
to certainty that the Winter Palace was destroyed. He agreed with her cordi=
ally
that the position of women was intolerable, but checked himself on the' ver=
ge
of the proposition that a girl ought not to expect a fellow to hand down bo=
xes
for her when he was getting the 'swap' from a customer. It was Jessie's pre=
occupation
with her own perplexities, no doubt, that delayed the unveiling of Mr. Hoop=
driver
all through Saturday and Sunday. Once or twice, however, there were inciden=
ts
that put him about terribly--even questions that savoured of suspicion.
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 ta=
le
of his falsehoods, and when he tried to turn his mind from that, the financ=
ial problem
suddenly rose upon him. He heard two o'clock strike, and three. It is odd h=
ow
unhappy some of us are at times, when we are at our happiest.
"Good morning, Madam," said Hoopdriv=
er,
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.
She stopped abruptly, with a puzzled expressio=
n on
her face. "Where HAVE I seen that before?" she said.
"The chair?" said Hoopdriver, flushi=
ng.
"No--the attitude."
She came forward and shook hands with him, loo=
king
the while curiously into his face. "And--Madam?"
"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 c=
all
'em all Madam."
"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 b=
e a
man!--you must cure yourself. That habit of bowing as you do, and rubbing y=
our
hands, and looking expectant."
"It's a habit."
"I know. But I don't think it a good one.=
You
don't mind my telling you?"
"Not a bit. I'm grateful."
"I'm blessed or afflicted with a trick of
observation," said Jessie, looking at the breakfast table. Mr. Hoopdri=
ver
put his hand to his moustache and then, thinking this might be another habi=
t,
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 pie=
ce
of binding was loose, and, possibly to carry out her theory of an observant
disposition, she turned and asked him for a pin.
Mr. Hoopdriver's hand fluttered instinctively =
to
his lappel, and there, planted by habit, were a couple of stray pins he had
impounded.
"What an odd place to put pins!"
exclaimed Jessie, taking it.
"It's 'andy," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"I saw a chap in a shop do it once."
"You must have a careful disposition,&quo=
t;
she said, over her shoulder, kneeling down to the chair.
"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 t=
he
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 gentl=
y.
It fell with a loud 'ping' on the fender. Happily she made no remark, being=
preoccupied
with the binding of the chair.
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.
"Breakfast is late," said Jessie,
standing up.
"Isn't it?"
Conversation was slack. Jessie wanted to know =
the
distance to Ringwood. Then silence fell again.
Mr. Hoopdriver, very uncomfortable and studyin=
g 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.
"Why do you do that?" said Jessie.
"WHAT?" said Hoopdriver, dropping the
tablecloth convulsively.
"Look at the cloth like that. I saw you d=
o it
yesterday, too."
Mr. Hoopdriver's face became quite a bright re=
d.
He began pulling his moustache nervously. "I know," he said. &quo=
t;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 l=
ook
at things to see, don't y'know, whether they're quite clean or not. It's go=
t to
be a habit."
"How odd!" said Jessie.
"Isn't it?" mumbled Hoopdriver.
"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?"
"Yes," said Hoopdriver, in a melanch=
oly
tone, "you guessed it."
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 op=
en
with her tray and brought in the coffee and scrambled eggs.
"I am rather lucky with my intuitions,
sometimes," said Jessie.
Remorse that had been accumulating in his mind=
for
two days surged to the top of his mind. What a shabby liar he was!
And, besides, he must sooner or later, inevita=
bly,
give himself away.
=
Mr. Hoopdriver helped the eggs and then, inste=
ad
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.
"Do what?" said Jessie, looking up i=
n surprise
over the coffee pot. She was just beginning her scrambled egg.
"Own up."
"Own what?"
"Miss Milton--I'm a liar." He put his
head on one side and regarded her with a frown of tremendous resolution. Th=
en
in measured accents, and moving his head slowly from side to side, he
announced, "Ay'm a deraper."
"You're a draper? I thought--"
"You thought wrong. But it's bound to come
up. Pins, attitude, habits--It's plain enough.
"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."
"A draper's assistant isn't a position to=
be
ashamed of," she said, recovering, and not quite understanding yet what
this all meant.
"Yes, it is," he said, "for a m=
an,
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."
"But why are you telling me this now?&quo=
t;
"It's important you should know at
once."
"But, Mr. Benson--"
"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 c=
an't
go on deceiving you. My name's not Benson. WHY I told you Benson, I DON'T k=
now.
Except that I'm a kind of fool. Well--I wanted somehow to seem more than I =
was.
My name's Hoopdriver."
"Yes?"
"And that about South Africa--and that
lion."
"Well?"
"Lies."
"Lies!"
"And the discovery of diamonds on the ost=
rich
farm. Lies too. And all the reminiscences of the giraffes--lies too. I never
rode on no giraffes. I'd be afraid."
He looked at her with a kind of sullen
satisfaction. He had eased his conscience, anyhow. She regarded him in infi=
nite
perplexity. This was a new side altogether to the man. "But WHY,"=
she
began.
"Why did I tell you such things? 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."
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 n=
ight
thinking about myself; thinking what a got-up imitation of a man I was, and=
all
that."
"And you haven't any diamond shares, and =
you
are not going into Parliament, and you're not--"
"All Lies," said Hoopdriver, in a
sepulchral voice. "Lies from beginning to end. 'Ow I came to tell 'em I
DON'T know."
She stared at him blankly.
"I never set eyes on Africa in my life,&q=
uot;
said Mr. Hoopdriver, completing the confession. Then he pulled his right ha=
nd
from his pocket, and with the nonchalance of one to whom the bitterness of
death is passed, began to drink his coffee.
"It's a little surprising," began
Jessie, vaguely.
"Think it over," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart."
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. S=
he
glanced at him through her eyelashes. Once or twice she struggled with
laughter, once or twice she seemed to be indignant.
"I don't know what to think," she sa=
id
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--"
"Well?"
"I think so still."
"Honest--with all those lies!"
"I wonder."
"I don't," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"I'm fair ashamed of myself. But anyhow--I've stopped deceiving you.&q=
uot;
"I THOUGHT," said the Young Lady in
Grey, "that story of the lion--"
"Lord!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "D=
on't
remind me of THAT."
"I thought, somehow, I FELT, that the thi=
ngs
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 had never pretended! I see it all
now."
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!"=
;
"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 th=
ink
my social inferior."
"That was partly it," said Mr.
Hoopdriver.
"How you misunderstood me!" she said=
.
"You don't mind?"
"It was noble of you. But I am sorry,&quo=
t;
she said, "you should think me likely to be ashamed of you because you
follow a decent trade."
"I didn't know at first, you see," s=
aid
Mr. Hoopdriver.
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 lit=
tle
Blandford as though no shadow of any sort had come between them.
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.
"Ju think," he began abruptly, remov=
ing
a meditative cigarette from his mouth, "that a draper's shopman IS a
decent citizen?"
"Why not?"
"When he puts people off with what they d=
on't
quite want, for instance?"
"Need he do that?"
"Salesmanship," said Hoopdriver.
"Wouldn't get a crib if he didn't.--It's no good your arguing. It's no=
t 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 w=
eek;
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 enoug=
h to
feel that you're not superior. Without capital there's no prospects; one dr=
aper
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?"
She did not answer. She looked at him with
distress in her brown eyes, and he remained gloomily in possession of the
field.
Presently he spoke. "I've been
thinking," he said, and stopped.
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 h=
ad regarded
the grass, and pointed his remarks with redknuckled hands held open and pal=
ms
upwards. Now they hung limply over his knees.
"Well?" she said.
"I was thinking it this morning," sa=
id
Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Yes?"
"Of course it's silly."
"Well?"
"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."
"And now you mean, should you go on
working?"
"Yes," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Th=
at's
it. You can't do much at drapery without capital, you know. But if I could =
get
really educated. I've thought sometimes..."
"Why not?" said the Young Lady in Gr=
ey.
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."
"Am I Man ENOUGH?" said Mr. Hoopdriv=
er
aloud, but addressing himself. "There's that eight years," he sai=
d to
her.
"You can make it up. What you call educat=
ed
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 stepmot=
her,
and dining out. You're in front of them already in one thing. They think th=
ey
know everything. You don't. And they know such little things."
"Lord!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "H=
ow
you encourage a fellow!"
"If I could only help you," she said,
and left an eloquent hiatus. He became pensive again.
"It's pretty evident you don't think much=
of
a draper," he said abruptly.
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--"
"But drapers! We're too sort of shabby
genteel to rise. Our coats and cuffs might get crumpled--"
"Wasn't there a Clarke who wrote theology=
? He
was a draper."
"There was one started a sewing cotton, t=
he
only one I ever heard tell of."
"Have you ever read 'Hearts Insurgent'?&q=
uot;
"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 m=
uch
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 cours=
e,
and first-class writers, but they didn't seem to have much to do with me. B=
ut
there's heaps of books one hears talked about, I HAVEN'T read."
"Don't you read any other books but
novels?"
"Scarcely ever. One gets tired after
business, and you can't get the books. I have been to some extension lectur=
es,
of course, 'Lizabethan Dramatists,' it was, but it seemed a little high-flo=
wn,
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."
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 lear=
ning
time is over."
"Is it?" she said; but he did not se=
em
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. pr=
omised
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 w=
ho
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."
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--"=
"MAKE it different."
"How?"
"WORK. Stop playing at life. Face it like=
a
man."
"Ah!" said Hoopdriver, glancing at h=
er
out of the corners of his eyes. "And even then--"
"No! It's not much good. I'm beginning too
late."
And there, in blankly thoughtful silence, that
conversation ended.
=
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 establish=
ment
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 th=
ey
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 rath=
er
the worse for the weather, and his long-tail coat had been replaced by a bl=
ack
jacket of quite remarkable brevity. He had faded brown shoes on his feet, h=
is 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.
"A most charming day, sir," he said,=
in
a ringing tenor.
"Charming," said Mr. Hoopdriver, ove=
r a
portion of pie.
"You are, I perceive, cycling through this
delightful country," said the clergyman.
"Touring," explained Mr. Hoopdriver.
"I can imagine that, with a properly oiled machine, there can be no ea=
sier
nor pleasanter way of seeing the country."
"No," said Mr. Hoopdriver; "it
isn't half a bad way of getting about."
"For a young and newly married couple, a
tandem bicycle must be, I should imagine, a delightful bond."
"Quite so," said Mr. Hoopdriver,
reddening a little.
"Do you ride a tandem?"
"No--we're separate," said Mr.
Hoopdriver.
"The motion through the air is indisputab=
ly
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 precipit=
ate
the tannin in my tea," he remarked to the room at large, and folding h=
is hands,
remained for some time with his chin thereon, staring fixedly at a little
picture over Mr. Hoopdriver's head.
"I myself am a cyclist," said the
clergyman, descending suddenly upon Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Indeed!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, attac=
king
the moustache. "What machine, may I ask?"
"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."
"Hauling!" said Jessie, surprised.
"With a shoe lace. And partly carrying it=
on
my back."
The pause was unexpected. Jessie had some trou=
ble
with a crumb. Mr. Hoopdriver's face passed through several phases of surpri=
se.
Then he saw the explanation. "Had an accident?"
"I can hardly call it an accident. The wh=
eels
suddenly refused to go round. I found myself about five miles from here wit=
h an
absolutely immobile machine."
"Ow!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, trying to
seem intelligent, and Jessie glanced at this insane person.
"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 lassitud=
e,
merely redoubled my exertions."
"'Ot work all round," said Mr.
Hoopdriver.
"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 necessita=
ted
an inversion of the entire apparatus,--an inversion in which I participated=
."
"Meaning, that you went over?" said =
Mr.
Hoopdriver, suddenly much amused.
"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."
The clergyman's nutriment appeared in the door=
way.
"Five miles," said the clergyman. He
began at once to eat bread and butter vigorously. "Happily," he s=
aid,
"I am an eupeptic, energetic sort of person on principle. I would all =
men
were likewise."
"It's the best way," agreed Mr.
Hoopdriver, and the conversation gave precedence to bread and butter.
"Gelatine," said the clergyman,
presently, stirring his tea thoughtfully, "precipitates the tannin in
one's tea and renders it easy of digestion."
"That's a useful sort of thing to know,&q=
uot;
said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"You are altogether welcome," said t=
he
clergyman, biting generously at two pieces of bread and butter folded toget=
her.
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 thoug=
hts.
He had changed the last sovereign at Ringwood. The fact had come upon him s=
uddenly.
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 certa=
inly
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 acro=
ss
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.
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, how=
ever,
it was grey and barred with shadows, for there the trees clustered thick and
tall. Mr. Hoopdriver fumbled clumsily with his cigarettes.
"There's a thing I got to tell you,"=
he
said, trying to be perfectly calm.
"Yes?" she said.
"I'd like to jest discuss your plans a bi=
t,
y'know."
"I'm very unsettled," said Jessie.
"You are thinking of writing Books?"
"Or doing journalism, or teaching, or
something like that."
"And keeping yourself independent of your
stepmother?"
"Yes."
"How long'd it take now, to get anything =
of
that sort to do?"
"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."
"Of course," said Hoopdriver, "=
it's
very suitable work. Not being heavy like the drapery."
"There's heavy brain labour, you must
remember."
"That wouldn't hurt YOU," said Mr.
Hoopdriver, turning a compliment.
"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."
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.'
"Money," said Jessie. "I didn't
think of money."
"Hullo! Here's a tandem bicycle," sa=
id
Mr. Hoopdriver, abruptly, and pointing with his cigarette.
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 ris=
e.
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 machi=
nes
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 attemp=
t to
jump off as one does off a single bicycle, hit his boot against the backbon=
e,
and collapsed heavily, falling on his shoulder.
She stood up. "Dear me!" she said.
"I hope he isn't hurt."
The second rider went to the assistance of the
fallen man.
Hoopdriver stood up, too. The lank, shaky mach=
ine
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 s=
eems
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.
"Amatoors," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
Jessie stood staring, and a veil of thought
dropped over her eyes. She no longer regarded the two men who were now tink=
ering
at the machine down below there.
"How much have you?" she said.
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 pe=
nny."
"I have half a sovereign," she said.
"Our bill wherever we stop--" The hiatus was more eloquent than m=
any
words.
"I never thought of money coming in to st=
op
us like this," said Jessie.
"It's a juiced nuisance."
"Money," said Jessie. "Is it po=
ssible--Surely!
Conventionality! May only people of means--Live their own Lives? I never
thought ..."
Pause.
"Here's some more cyclists coming," =
said
Mr. Hoopdriver.
The two men were both busy with their bicycle
still, but now from among the trees emerged the massive bulk of a 'Marlboro=
ugh
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.
"Surely," said Jessie, peering under=
her
hand. "It's never--"
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.
"Looks like some sort of excursion,"
said Hoopdriver.
Jessie did not answer. She was still peering u=
nder
her hand. "Surely," she said.
The clergyman's efforts were becoming convulsi=
ve.
With a curious jerking motion, the tricycle he rode twisted round upon itse=
lf,
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 dismounte=
d, 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 brillia=
nt
colour among the greys and greens at the foot of the hill. The tandem bicyc=
le
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 dri=
ver
had now descended.
"Mr. Hoopdriver," said Jessie.
"Those people--I'm almost sure--"
"Lord!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, reading=
the
rest in her face, and he turned to pick up his machine at once. Then he dro=
pped
it and assisted her to mount.
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 anoth=
er moment
they were out of sight, riding hard down a steady incline towards Stoney Cr=
oss.
Before they had dropped among the trees out of
sight of the hill brow, Jessie looked back and saw the tandem rising over t=
he
crest, with its rear rider just tumbling into the saddle. "They're
coming," she said, and bent her head over her handles in true professi=
onal
style.
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. Hoopdrive=
r,
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.
Then the road rose quietly but persistently; t=
he
treadles grew heavy, and Mr. Hoopdriver's breath sounded like a saw. The ta=
ndem
appeared, making frightful exertions, at the foot, while the chase was stil=
l 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.
"We're gaining," said Mr. Hoopdriver=
, with
a little Niagara of perspiration dropping from brow to cheek. "That
hill--"
But that was their only gleam of success. They
were both nearly spent. Hoopdriver, indeed, was quite spent, and only a fee=
ling
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 u=
pon
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 machi=
ne
as it passed him. His only consolation was to notice that its riders, ridin=
g violently,
were quite as dishevelled as himself and smothered in sandy white dust.
Abruptly Jessie stopped and dismounted, and the
tandem riders shot panting past them downhill. "Brake," said Dang=
le,
who was riding behind, and stood up on the pedals. For a moment the velocit=
y of
the thing increased, and then they saw the dust fly from the brake, as it c=
ame 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.&qu=
ot; 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.
In this way the tandem riders were carried a g=
ood
hundred yards or more beyond their quarry. Then Phipps realized his
possibilities, slacked up with the brake, and let the thing go over sideway=
s,
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, wit=
h a
florid face.
"They have forgotten us," said Jessi=
e,
turning her machine.
"There was a road at the top of the hill-=
-to
Lyndhurst," said Hoopdriver, following her example.
"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."
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.
"Miss Milton, I believe," said Dangl=
e,
panting and raising a damp cap from his wet and matted hair.
"I SAY," said Phipps, receding invol=
untarily.
"Don't go doing it again, Dangle. HELP a chap."
"One minute," said Dangle, and ran a=
fter
his colleague.
Jessie leant her machine against the wall, and
went into the hotel entrance. Hoopdriver remained in the hotel entrance, li=
mp
but defiant.
=
He folded his arms as Dangle and Phipps return=
ed
towards him. Phipps was abashed by his inability to cope with the tandem, w=
hich
he was now wheeling, but Dangle was inclined to be quarrelsome. "Miss
Milton?" he said briefly.
Mr. Hoopdriver bowed over his folded arms.
"Miss Milton within?" said Dangle.
"AND not to be disturved," said Mr.
Hoopdriver.
"You are a scoundrel, sir," said Mr.
Dangle.
"Et your service," said Mr. Hoopdriv=
er.
"She awaits 'er stepmother, sir."
Mr. Dangle hesitated. "She will be here
immediately," he said. "Here is her friend, Miss Mergle."
Mr. Hoopdriver unfolded his arms slowly, and, =
with
an air of immense calm, thrust his hands into his breeches pockets. Then wi=
th
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 D=
ARE
you, sir? How dare you face me? That poor girl!"
=
"You
will permit me to observe," began Mr. Hoopdriver, with a splendid draw=
l,
seeing himself, for the first time in all this business, as a romantic vill=
ain.
"Ugh," said Miss Mergle, unexpectedl=
y striking
him about the midriff with her extended palms, and sending him staggering
backward into the hall of the hotel.
"Let me pass," said Miss Mergle, in
towering indignation. "How dare you resist my passage?" and so sw=
ept
by him and into the dining-room, wherein Jessie had sought refuge.
As Mr. Hoopdriver struggled for equilibrium wi=
th
the umbrella-stand, Dangle and Phipps, roused from their inertia by Miss
Mergle's activity, came in upon her heels, Phipps leading. "How dare y=
ou
prevent that lady passing?" said Phipps.
Mr. Hoopdriver looked obstinate, and, to Dangl=
e'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."
Mr. Hoopdriver thrust his hands into his pocke=
ts.
"Who the juice are you?" shouted Mr. Hoopdriver, fiercely.
"Who are YOU, sir?" retorted Phipps.
"Who are you? That's the question. What are YOU, and what are you doin=
g,
wandering at large with a young lady under age?"
"Don't speak to him," said Dangle.
"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."
He and Phipps stood, legs apart and both looki=
ng
exceedingly fierce at one another, and Heaven alone knows what might not ha=
ve
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 dema=
nded
a third wheel and a black coat from a clerical rider. He looked at Phipps a=
nd
Hoopdriver for a moment, then extending his hand towards the latter, he wav=
ed
it up and down three times, saying, "Tchak, tchak, tchak," very d=
eliberately
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.
This expression of extreme disapprobation had a
very demoralizing effect upon Hoopdriver, a demoralization that was immedia=
tely
completed by the advent of the massive Widgery.
"Is this the man?" said Widgery very
grimly, and producing a special voice for the occasion from somewhere deep =
in
his neck.
"Don't hurt him!" said Mrs. Milton, =
with
clasped hands. "However much wrong he has done her--No violence!"=
"'Ow many more of you?" said Hoopdri=
ver,
at bay before the umbrella stand. "Where is she? What has he done with
her?" said Mrs. Milton.
"I'm not going to stand here and be insul=
ted
by a lot of strangers," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "So you needn't think
it."
"Please don't worry, Mr. Hoopdriver,"
said Jessie, suddenly appearing in the door of the dining-room. "I'm h=
ere,
mother." Her face was white.
Mrs. Milton said something about her child, and
made an emotional charge at Jessie. The embrace vanished into the dining-ro=
om.
Widgery moved as if to follow, and hesitated. "You'd better make yours=
elf
scarce," he said to Mr. Hoopdriver.
"I shan't do anything of the kind," =
said
Mr. Hoopdriver, with a catching of the breath. "I'm here defending that
young lady."
"You've done her enough mischief, I should
think," said Widgery, suddenly walking towards the dining-room, and cl=
osing
the door behind him, leaving Dangle and Phipps with Hoopdriver.
"Clear!" said Phipps, threateningly.=
"I shall go and sit out in the garden,&qu=
ot;
said Mr. Hoopdriver, with dignity. "There I shall remain."
"Don't make a row with him," said
Dangle.
And Mr. Hoopdriver retired, unassaulted, in al=
most
sobbing dignity.
=
So here is the world with us again, and our
sentimental excursion is over. In the front of the Rufus Stone Hotel concei=
ve a
remarkable collection of wheeled instruments, watched over by Dangle and Ph=
ipps
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 somethi=
ng
that might have been a girlish sob.
"I fail to see what status Widgery has,&q=
uot;
says Dangle, "thrusting himself in there."
"He takes too much upon himself," sa=
id
Phipps.
"I've been noticing little things, yester=
day
and to-day," said Dangle, and stopped.
"They went to the cathedral together in t=
he
afternoon."
"Financially it would be a good thing for
her, of course," said Dangle, with a gloomy magnanimity.
He felt drawn to Phipps now by the common trou=
ble,
in spite of the man's chequered legs. "Financially it wouldn't be half
bad."
"He's so dull and heavy," said Phipp=
s.
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 appall=
ed
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. T=
hese
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 clergy=
man
in Ringwood, and had told him everything forthwith, having met him once at a
British Association meeting. He had immediately constituted himself adminis=
trator
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 episod=
e.
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 anxio=
us
to pass opinions to pin her down to particulars. At last they had all the f=
acts
they would permit.
"My dear young lady," said the
clergyman, "I can only ascribe this extravagant and regrettable expedi=
tion
of yours to the wildest misconceptions of your place in the world and of yo=
ur
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 f=
olly
as to a positive annoyance at our most fortunate interference--"
"Not that," said Mrs. Milton, in a l=
ow
tone. "Not that."
"But WHY did she go off like this?" =
said
Widgery. "That's what I want to know."
Jessie made an attempt to speak, but Mrs. Milt=
on
said "Hush!" and the ringing tenor of the clergyman rode triumpha=
ntly
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--"
"If I HAD a mother," gulped Jessie,
succumbing to the obvious snare of self-pity, and sobbing.
"To cherish, protect, and advise you. And=
you
must needs go out of it all alone into a strange world of unknown
dangers-"
"I wanted to learn," said Jessie.
"You wanted to learn. May you never have
anything to UNlearn."
"AH!" from Mrs. Milton, very sadly.<= o:p>
"It isn't fair for all of you to argue at=
me
at once," submitted Jessie, irrelevantly.
"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 o=
nly
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--"
"I don't altogether agree with you
there," said Miss Mergle, throwing her head back and regarding him fir=
mly
through her spectacles, and Mr. Widgery coughed.
"What HAS all this to do with me?" a=
sked
Jessie, availing herself of the interruption.
"The point is," said Mrs. Milton, on=
her
defence, "that in my books--"
"All I want to do," said Jessie,
"is to go about freely by myself. Girls do so in America. Why not
here?"
"Social conditions are entirely different=
in
America," said Miss Mergle. "Here we respect Class
Distinctions."
"It's very unfortunate. What I want to kn=
ow
is, why I cannot go away for a holiday if I want to."
"With a strange young man, socially your
inferior," said Widgery, and made her flush by his tone.
"Why not?" she said. "With
anybody."
"They don't do that, even in America,&quo=
t;
said Miss Mergle.
"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 underst=
and
the harrowing anxiety you have given Mrs. Milton by this inexplicable fligh=
t of
yours. We can only put things down at present, in charity, to your
ignorance--"
"You have to consider the general body of
opinion, too," said Widgery.
"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."
"But I'VE done nothing wrong. Why should =
I be
responsible for other people's--"
"The world has no charity," said Mrs.
Milton.
"For a girl," said Jessie.
"No."
"Now do let us stop arguing, my dear young
lady, and let us listen to reason. Never mind how or why, this conduct of y=
ours
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 f=
or
these last few days--"
"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--"
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--"
"Anything," said Mrs. Milton, "=
anything
in reason."
"But will you keep your promise?" sa=
id
Jessie.
"Surely you won't dictate to your
mother!" said Widgery.
"My stepmother! I don't want to dictate. I
want definite promises now."
"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--"
"LET her have her way," said Widgery=
.
"A room then. All your Men. I'm not to co=
me
down and talk away half my days--"
"My dear child, if only to save you,"
said Mrs. Milton. "If you don't keep your promise--"
"Then I take it the matter is practically
concluded," said the clergyman. "And that you very properly submi=
t to
return to your proper home. And now, if I may offer a suggestion, it is tha=
t we
take tea. Freed of its tannin, nothing, I think, is more refreshing and sti=
mulating."
"There's a train from Lyndhurst at thirte=
en
minutes to six," said Widgery, unfolding a time table. "That give=
s us
about half an hour or three-quarters here--if a conveyance is obtainable, t=
hat
is."
"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.
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 tow=
ards
the door. "While you have tea, mother," she said, "I must te=
ll
Mr. Hoopdriver of our arrangements."
"Don't you think I--" began the
clergyman.
"No," said Jessie, very rudely; &quo=
t;I
don't."
"But, Jessie, haven't you already--"=
"You are already breaking the
capitulation," said Jessie.
"Will you want the whole half hour?"
said Widgery, at the bell.
"Every minute," said Jessie, in the
doorway. "He's behaved very nobly to me."
"There's tea," said Widgery.
"I've had tea."
"He may not have behaved badly," said
the clergyman. "But he's certainly an astonishingly weak person to let=
a
wrong-headed young girl--"
Jessie closed the door into the garden.
=
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 h=
er
away to those social altitudes of hers. She would become an inaccessible yo=
ung
lady again. Would they let him say good-bye to her?
How extraordinary it had all been! He recalled=
the
moment when he had first seen her riding, with the sunlight behind her, alo=
ng
the riverside road; he recalled that wonderful night at Bognor, remembering=
it
as if everything had been done of his own initiative. "Brave, brave!&q=
uot;
she had called him. And afterwards, when she came down to him in the mornin=
g, 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 f=
rom
him as though he was scarcely fit to live in the same world with her. No mo=
re 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..=
.
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 f=
elt.
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...
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."
Mr. Hoopdriver winced, opened and shut his mou=
th,
and rose without a word.
At first Jessie Milton and Mr. Hoopdriver walk=
ed
away from the hotel in silence. He heard a catching in her breath and glanc=
ed
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 intention=
ally.
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.
"It's the end," he whispered to hims=
elf.
"It's the end."
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 be=
neath
them, crest beyond crest, of leafy trees, fading at last into blue.
"The end" ran through his mind, to t=
he
exclusion of all speakable thoughts.
"And so," she said, presently, break=
ing
the silence, "it comes to good-bye."
For half a minute he did not answer. Then he
gathered his resolution. "There is one thing I MUST say."
"Well?" she said, surprised and abru=
ptly
forgetting the recent argument. "I ask no return. But--"
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-by=
e."
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 no=
t 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?"
He stared hard in front of him still, and the
lines about his weak mouth seemed to strengthen. He knew she understood wha=
t he
could not say.
"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?"
She took ten seconds to think. "No."=
she
said, and held out her hand, biting her nether lip. "GOOD-BYE," s=
he
whispered.
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 moveme=
nt.
She felt the touch of his lips, and then he had dropped her fingers and tur=
ned 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 stare=
d at
his receding figure until it was small and far below her, and then, the tea=
rs
running over her eyelids now, turned slowly, and walked with her hands grip=
ped
hard together behind her, towards Stoney Cross again.
"I did not know," she whispered to h=
erself.
"I did not understand. Even now--No, I do not understand."
XLI. THE ENVOY
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, t=
here
is no telling it, for the years have still to run. But if you see how a mer=
e 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 w=
ill
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.
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 bro=
wn
shoes not intended to be cycled in, flitting Londonward through Hampshire a=
nd Berkshire
and Surrey, going economically--for excellent reasons. Day by day he goes o=
n,
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, y=
ou
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,&quo=
t;
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 gus=
t of
passion comes upon him and he rides furiously for a space.
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 whi=
le.
"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.
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 rumb=
ling
home to their dinners, we part from him. He is back. To-morrow, the early r=
ising,
the dusting, and drudgery, begin again--but with a difference, with wonderf=
ul
memories and still more wonderful desires and ambitions replacing those dis=
crepant
dreams.
He turns out of the High Street at the corner,
dismounts with a sigh, and pushes his machine through the gates of the Antr=
obus
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."
The gate closes upon him with a slam, and he
vanishes from our ken.