an wizzer bicitle," said a nursemaid on the path
to a personage in a perambulator. That healed him a little. "'Gentleman
wizzer bicitle,'--'bloomin' Dook'--I can't look so very seedy," he said
to himself.

"I WONDER--I should just like to know--"

There was something very comforting in the track of HER pneumatic
running straight and steady along the road before him. It must be hers.
No other pneumatic had been along the road that morning. It was just
possible, of course, that he might see her once more--coming back.
Should he try and say something smart? He speculated what manner of girl
she might be. Probably she was one of these here New Women. He had a
persuasion the cult had been maligned. Anyhow she was a Lady. And rich
people, too! Her machine couldn't have cost much under twenty pounds.
His mind came round and dwelt some time on her visible self. Rational
dress didn't look a bit unwomanly. However, he disdained to be one of
your fortune-hunters. Then his thoughts drove off at a tangent. He would
certainly have to get something to eat at the next public house.

VI. ON THE ROAD TO RIPLEY

In the fulness of time, Mr. Hoopdriver drew near the Marquis of Granby
at Esher, and as he came under the railway arch and saw the inn in front
of him, he mounted his machine again and rode bravely up to the doorway.
Burton and biscuit and cheese he had, which, indeed, is Burton in its
proper company; and as he was eating there came a middleaged man in a
drab cycling suit, very red and moist and angry in the face, and asked
bitterly for a lemon squash. And he sat down upon the seat in the bar
and mopped his face. But scarcely had he sat down before he got up again
and stared out of the doorway.

"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 myself a Damned Fool, sir. Have you
any objections?"

"Oh!--None. None," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "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 philosophy--!"

Mr. Hoopdriver looked as intelligent as he could, but said nothing.

"There's no hurry, sir, none whatever. I came out for exercise, gentle
exercise, and to notice the scenery and to botanise. And no sooner d