trough
stands, he turned towards Kingston and set himself to scale the little
bit of ascent. An early heath-keeper, in his velveteen jacket, marvelled
at his efforts. And while he yet struggled, the head of a carter rose
over the brow.

At the sight of him Mr. Hoopdriver, according to his previous
determination, resolved to dismount. He tightened the brake, and the
machine stopped dead. He was trying to think what he did with his right
leg whilst getting off. He gripped the handles and released the brake,
standing on the left pedal and waving his right foot in the air.
Then--these things take so long in the telling--he found the machine was
falling over to the right. While he was deciding upon a plan of action,
gravitation appears to have been busy. He was still irresolute when he
found the machine on the ground, himself kneeling upon it, and a vague
feeling in his mind that again Providence had dealt harshly with his
shin. This happened when he was just level with the heathkeeper. The man
in the approaching cart stood up to see the ruins better.

"THAT ain't the way to get off," said the heathkeeper.

Mr. Hoopdriver picked up the machine. The handle was twisted askew again
He said something under his breath. He would have to unscrew the beastly
thing.

"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 went to the handle. He was
annoyed. "That's my business, I suppose," he said, fumbling with the
screw. The unusual exertion had made his hands shake frightfully.

The heath-keeper became meditative, and twisted his stick in his
hands behind his back. "You've broken yer 'andle, ain't yer?" he
said presently. Just then the screw hammer slipped off the nut. Mr.
Hoopdriver used a nasty, low word.

"They're trying things, them bicycles," said the heath-keeper,
charitably. "Very trying." Mr. Hoopdriver gave the nut a vicious turn
and suddenly stood up--he was holding the front wheel between his knees.
"I wish," said he, with a catch in his voice, "I wish you'd leave off
staring at me."

Then with the air of one who has delivered an ultimatum, he