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Updated: May 3, 2025
Hoopdriver. For a space he forgot the tears of the Young Lady in Grey. Here was a new game! and a real one. Mr.
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?"
"Ju think," he began abruptly, removing 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 don'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.
Everybody began to speak at once. Mr. Hoopdriver twirled his moustache. He felt that Charlie's recognition of his gentlemanliness was at any rate a redeeming feature. But it became his pose to ride hard and heavy over the routed foe. He shouted some insulting phrase over the tumult. "You're regular abject," the man in gaiters was saying to Charlie. More confusion.
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.
He was far too grimly in earnest to pick up that lost thread and make a play of it now. The man was living. He did not pose when he alighted at the coffee tavern even, nor when he made his hasty meal. As Bechamel crossed from the Vicuna towards the esplanade, Hoopdriver, disappointed and exasperated, came hurrying round the corner from the Temperance Hotel.
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.
That's the question. What are YOU, and what are you doing, 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."
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.
They filled him with apprehension by looking at the house which sheltered him, but the sight of his bicycle, propped in a drunk and incapable attitude against the doorway, humping its rackety mud-guard and leering at them with its darkened lantern eye, drove them away so it seemed to Mr. Hoopdriver to the spacious swallow of the Golden Dragon.
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