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. A drop of perspiration ran into his eye, irritant as acid.

The road really was uphill beyond dispute. All his physiology began to

cry out at him. A last tremendous effort brought him to the corner and

showed yet another extent of shady roadway, empty save for a baker's

van. His front wheel suddenly shrieked aloud. "Oh Lord!" said

Hoopdriver, relaxing.

Anyhow she was not in sight. He got off unsteadily, and for a moment

his legs felt like wisps of cotton. He balanced his machine against the

grassy edge of the path and sat down panting. His hands were gnarled

with swollen veins and shaking palpably, his breath came viscid.

I'm hardly in training yet," he remarked. His legs had gone leaden.

I don't feel as though I'd had a mouthful of breakfast." Presently he

slapped his side pocket and produced therefrom a brand-new cigarette

case and a packet of Vansittart's Red Herring cigarettes. He filled

the case. Then his eye fell with a sudden approval on the ornamental

chequering of his new stockings. The expression in his eyes faded slowly

to abstract meditation.

"She WAS a stunning girl," he said. "I wonder if I shall ever set eyes

on her again. And she knew how to ride, too! Wonder what she thought of

The Wheels of Chance