heathkeeper had aroused relieved his mind of the constant
expectation of collapse that had previously unnerved him. To ride
a bicycle properly is very like a love affair--chiefly it
is a matter of faith. Believe you do it, and the thing is done;
doubt, and, for the life of you, you cannot.

Now you may perhaps imagine that as he rode on, his feelings
towards the heath-keeper were either vindictive or
remorseful,--vindictive for the aggravation or remorseful for his
own injudicious display of ill temper. As a matter of fact, they
were nothing of the sort. A sudden, a wonderful gratitude,
possessed him. The Glory of the Holidays had resumed its sway
with a sudden accession of splendour. At the crest of the hill he
put his feet upon the footrests, and now riding moderately
straight, went, with a palpitating brake, down that excellent
descent. A new delight was in his eyes, quite over and above the
pleasure of rushing through the keen, sweet, morning air. He
reached out his thumb and twanged his bell out of sheer
happiness.

"'He's a bloomin' Dook--he is!'" said Mr. Hoopdriver to himself,
in a soft undertone, as he went soaring down the hill, and again,
"'He's a bloomin' Dook!"' He opened his mouth in a silent laugh.
It was having a decent cut did it. His social superiority had
been so evident that even a man like that noticed it. No more
Manchester Department for ten days! Out of Manchester, a Man. The
draper Hoopdriver, the Hand, had vanished from existence. Instead
was a gentleman, a man of pleasure, with a five-pound note, two
sovereigns, and some silver at various convenient points of his
person. At any rate as good as a Dook, if not precisely in the