That was enough about his bruises.
For now, Hoopdriver was back where he belonged—behind the counter of the drapery shop.
He carried the goods you had bought to the warehouse at the back of the building. There, the senior porter would pack everything carefully and arrange for it to be delivered to your home.
When he returned, Hoopdriver went straight back to his usual place.
He picked up a folded piece of gingham and began straightening it.
He carefully pulled at the corners, smoothed every crease, and made sure the folds were perfectly even.
Beside him stood an apprentice.
The boy was young, red-haired, and full of energy. His black coat was far too short, and his collar was so high that it almost reached his chin.
He was supposed to be working too.
He was slowly unfolding and refolding several pieces of cretonne.
To anyone watching them, the two young men seemed completely absorbed in their work.
But that was not the truth.
Neither of them was thinking about cloth.
Hoopdriver was thinking about the bicycle.
Only four more hours.
Then he would be free.
He was already imagining the evening when he could tell his friends about his latest collection of bruises and scrapes.
The apprentice, meanwhile, was thinking about something even more important.
A girl.
She was one of the dressmaking apprentices who worked upstairs.
In the boy’s imagination, he was already a great hero.
Sometimes he imagined himself fighting criminals.
Sometimes he imagined himself battling revolutionaries in the streets.
The most important part was that the girl would be watching from a window.
Perhaps she would finally notice how brave he was.
The two dreamers might have continued like that all afternoon if the shop-walker had not suddenly appeared.
The little, round-bodied man walked toward them with a sheet of paper in his hand.
The apprentice immediately became busy.
Hoopdriver quickly returned his attention to the gingham.
The shop-walker stopped beside the counter and looked down at the fabric.
“Hoopdriver,” he said, “how are those ginghams selling?”
Hoopdriver stopped thinking about bicycles and answered professionally.
“They’re doing fairly well, sir. Although the larger checks don’t seem to be moving very quickly.”
The shop-walker nodded.
Then he came closer.
“Have you decided when you’d like to take your holiday?”
Hoopdriver touched his thin moustache.
He had been waiting for this question.
“No, sir. Nothing fixed. Of course, I wouldn’t want to leave it too late.”
The shop-walker thought for a moment.
“How about a week from today?”
Hoopdriver froze.
A week?
He stared at the gingham in his hands without really seeing it.
A great many thoughts raced through his mind.
Could he learn everything he needed to learn in just one week?
That was the real question.
If he did not take the holiday next week, Briggs would probably get it instead.
Then Hoopdriver might have to wait until September.
And September was a dangerous gamble.
The weather could turn bad.
For someone planning bicycle adventures, that mattered enormously.
Hoopdriver was naturally an optimistic young man.
In fact, he almost had to be.
A draper needed optimism.
Every day, they had to convince customers that their fabrics were beautiful, durable, easy to wash, and guaranteed not to fade.
After thinking it over, Hoopdriver finally made his decision.
“That will suit me very well, sir.”
The shop-walker wrote something down.
“All right.”
And just like that, it was settled.
Hoopdriver was getting his holiday.
The decision had been made.
There was no turning back now.
The shop-walker moved on to Briggs, who worked in the dress department and stood next in the shop’s strict order of seniority.
Hoopdriver watched him go.
Then he returned to his work.
For a few moments, he carefully straightened the gingham.
Then his mind wandered again.
He would smooth another fold.
Then he would stare into space.
Then another fold.
Then another dream.
His tongue pressed unconsciously against the empty space around one of his aching wisdom teeth.
But he hardly noticed the pain.
His thoughts were already far away.
He was thinking about next week.
He was thinking about the bicycle.
And most of all, he was thinking about freedom.