and some judicious praise. I said:

"Watching you do this is of real use to me. It is not only your skill
and dexterity that fascinates me, it is your cheery confidence in
yourself, your inexplicable hopefulness, that does me good."

Thus encouraged, he set to work to refix the gear-case. He stood the
bicycle against the house, and worked from the off side. Then he stood
it against a tree, and worked from the near side. Then I held it for
him, while he lay on the ground with his head between the wheels, and
worked at it from below, and dropped oil upon himself. Then he took it
away from me, and doubled himself across it like a pack-saddle, till he
lost his balance and slid over on to his head. Three times he said:

"Thank Heaven, that's right at last!"

And twice he said:

"No, I'm damned if it is after all!"

What he said the third time I try to forget.

Then he lost his temper and tried bullying the thing. The bicycle, I was
glad to see, showed spirit; and the subsequent proceedings degenerated
into little else than a rough-and-tumble fight between him and the
machine. One moment the bicycle would be on the gravel path, and he on
top of it; the next, the position would be reversed--he on the gravel
path, the bicycle on him. Now he would be standing flushed with victory,
the bicycle firmly fixed between his legs. But his triumph would be
short-lived. By a sudden, quick movement it would free itself, and,