Mr. Hoopdriver got out his screw hammer and went to the handle.
He was annoyed. "That's my business, I suppose," he said,
fumbling with the screw. The unusual exertion had made his hands
shake frightfully.

The heath-keeper became meditative, and twisted his stick in his
hands behind his back. "You've broken yer 'andle, ain't yer?" he
said presently. Just then the screw hammer slipped off the nut.
Mr. Hoopdriver used a nasty, low word.

"They're trying things, them bicycles," said the heath-keeper,
charitably. "Very trying." Mr. Hoopdriver gave the nut a vicious
turn and suddenly stood up--he was holding the front wheel
between his knees. "I wish," said he, with a catch in his voice,
"I wish you'd leave off staring at me."

Then with the air of one who has delivered an ultimatum, he began
replacing the screw hammer in the wallet.

The heath-keeper never moved. Possibly he raised his eyebrows,
and certainly he stared harder than he did before. "You're pretty
unsociable," he said slowly, as Mr. Hoopdriver seized the handles
and stood ready to mount as soon as the cart had passed.

The indignation gathered slowly but surely. "Why don't you ride
on a private road of your own if no one ain't to speak to you?"
asked the heath-keeper, perceiving more and more clearly the
bearing of the matter. "Can't no one make a passin' remark to
you, Touchy? Ain't I good enough to speak to you? Been struck
wooden all of a sudden?"