The Wheels of Chance

“Do you ride a tandem?”

“No – we’re separate,” said Mr. Hoopdriver.

“The motion through the air is indisputably of a very exhilarating description.” With that decision, the clergyman turned to give his orders to the attendant, in a firm, authoritative voice, for a cup of tea, two gelatine lozenges, bread and butter, salad, and pie to follow. “The gelatine lozenges I must have. I require them to precipitate the tannin in my tea,” he remarked to the room at large, and folding his hands, remained for some time with his chin thereon, staring fixedly at a little picture over Mr. Hoopdriver’s head.

“I myself am a cyclist,” said the clergyman, descending suddenly upon Mr. Hoopdriver.

“Indeed!” said Mr. Hoopdriver, attacking 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 trouble with a crumb. Mr. Hoopdriver’s face passed through several phases of surprise. Then he saw the explanation. “Had an accident?”

“I can hardly call it an accident. The wheels suddenly refused to go round. I found myself about five miles from here with an absolutely immobile machine.”

“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 lassitude, 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 necessitated 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 doorway.

“Five miles,” said the clergyman. He began at once to eat bread and butter vigorously. “Happily,” he said, “I am an eupeptic, energetic sort of person on principle. I would all men were likewise.”

“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,” said Mr. Hoopdriver.

“You are altogether welcome,” said the clergyman, biting generously at two pieces of bread and butter folded together.

In the afternoon our two wanderers rode on at an easy pace towards Stoney Cross. Conversation languished, the topic of South Africa being in abeyance. Mr. Hoopdriver was silenced by disagreeable thoughts. He had changed the last sovereign at Ringwood. The fact had come upon him suddenly. Now too late he was reflecting upon his resources. There was twenty pounds or more in the post office savings bank in Putney, but his book was locked up in his box at the Antrobus establishment. Else this infatuated man would certainly have surreptitiously withdrawn the entire sum in order to prolong these journeyings even for a few days. As it was, the shadow of the end fell across his happiness. Strangely enough, in spite of his anxiety and the morning’s collapse, he was still in a curious emotional state that was certainly not misery. He was forgetting his imaginings and posings, forgetting himself altogether in his growing appreciation of his companion. The most tangible trouble in his mind was the necessity of breaking the matter to her.

A long stretch up hill tired them long before Stoney Cross was reached, and they dismounted and sat under the shade of a little oak tree. Near the crest the road looped on itself, so that, looking back, it sloped below them up to the right and then came towards them. About them grew a rich heather with stunted oaks on the edge of a deep ditch along the roadside, and this road was sandy; below the steepness of the hill, however, it was grey and barred with shadows, for there the trees clustered thick and tall. Mr. Hoopdriver fumbled clumsily with his cigarettes.

“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 bit, 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,” said 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 rise. The machine was evidently too highly geared for hill climbing, and presently the rearmost rider rose on his saddle and hopped off, leaving his companion to any fate he found proper. The foremost rider was a man unused to such machines and apparently undecided how to dismount. He wabbled a few yards up the hill with a long tail of machine wabbling behind him. Finally, he made an attempt to jump off as one does off a single bicycle, hit his boot against the backbone, and collapsed heavily, falling on his shoulder.

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 machine was lifted up and wheeled out of the way, and then the fallen rider, being assisted, got up slowly and stood rubbing his arm. No serious injury seemed to be done to the man, and the couple presently turned their attention to the machine by the roadside. They were not in cycling clothes Hoopdriver observed. One wore the grotesque raiment for which the Cockney discovery of the game of golf seems indirectly blamable. Even at this distance the flopping flatness of his cap, the bright brown leather at the top of his calves, and the chequering of his stockings were perceptible. The other, the rear rider, was a slender little man in grey.

“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 tinkering 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 penny.”

“I have half a sovereign,” she said. “Our bill wherever we stop – ” The hiatus was more eloquent than many words.

“I never thought of money coming in to stop us like this,” said Jessie.