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At other times Hoopdriver might have further resented the satirical
efforts of the apprentice, but his mind was too full of the projected
Tour to admit any petty delicacies of dignity. He left the supper table
early, so that he might put in a good hour at the desperate gymnastics
up the Roehampton Road before it would be time to come back for locking
up. When the gas was turned off for the night he was sitting on the edge
of his bed, rubbing arnica into his knee--a new and very big place--and
studying a Road Map of the South of England. Briggs of the "dresses,"
who shared the room with him, was sitting up in bed and trying to smoke
in the dark. Briggs had never been on a cycle in his life, but he felt
Hoopdriver's inexperience and offered such advice as occurred to him.
"Have the machine thoroughly well oiled," said Briggs, "carry one or
two lemons with you, don't tear yourself to death the first day, and sit
upright. Never lose control of the machine, and always sound the bell on
every possible opportunity. You mind those things, and nothing very much
can't happen to you, Hoopdriver--you take my word."
He would lapse into silence for a minute, save perhaps for a curse or so
at his pipe, and then break out with an entirely different set of tips.
"Avoid running over dogs, Hoopdriver, whatever you do. It's one of
the worst things you can do to run over a dog. Never let the machine
buckle--there was a man killed only the other day through his wheel
buckling--don't scorch, don't ride on the foot-path, keep your own side
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