III

At supper that night, holiday talk held undisputed 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 Cycling 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 adding in a tone of bitter

contempt,--"Jampot."

I'm getting fairly safe upon it now," he told Miss Howe.

The Wheels of Chance