"You can always," said Mr. Hoopdriver, "turn round if you don't like it,

and go back the way you came."

Oh-o!" said the other man in brown. "THAT'S it! I thought as much."

Did you?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, quite at sea, but rising pluckily to the

unknown occasion. What was the man driving at?

I see," said the other man. "I see. I half suspected--" His manner

changed abruptly to a quality suspiciously friendly. "Yes--a word with

you. You will, I hope, give me ten minutes."

Wonderful things were dawning on Mr. Hoopdriver. What did the other man

take him for? Here at last was reality! He hesitated. Then he thought of

an admirable phrase. "You 'ave some communication--"

We'll call it a communication," said the other man.

I can spare you the ten minutes," said Mr. Hoopdriver, with dignity.

This way, then," said the other man in brown, and they walked slowly

down the North Street towards the Grammar School. There was, perhaps,

thirty seconds' silence. The other man stroked his moustache nervously.

Mr. Hoopdriver's dramatic instincts were now fully awake. He did

not quite understand in what role he was cast, but it was evidently

something dark and mysterious. Doctor Conan Doyle, Victor Hugo, and

The Wheels of Chance