Mr. Hoopdriver stirred in his bed, opened his eyes, and stared blankly at the ceiling. He yawned and enjoyed the soft bed for a moment.
Very slowly, the events of the previous night came back to him.
He remembered the Young Lady in Grey, the chase, the hotel, the daring escape through the coach yard, the moonlight, and the ride through the night.
Suddenly he sat up.
Outside, people were opening shutters and unlocking doors. Horses and carriages were already moving through the street.
He looked at his watch.
Half past six.
He looked around the luxurious room again.
“Lord!” he said. “It wasn’t a dream after all.”
“I wonder what they charge for these fancy rooms.”
He pulled one bare foot toward him and rubbed it thoughtfully.
Then he began to laugh silently.
“What a rush that was! I walked right into the hotel, grabbed the girl, and got her away under that fellow’s nose.”
“I planned it pretty well too.”
“People talk about highway robbers and brigands. Well, I certainly gave that fellow something to remember.”
He suddenly stopped laughing.
His eyebrows went up and his mouth fell open.
“I say!”
A terrible thought had just occurred to him.
In the excitement of the previous night, he had never stopped to think about one very important detail.
“I’m hanged if I haven’t stolen a bicycle!”
He sat there for a moment.
Then he shrugged.
“Who cares?”
But his face showed that he cared very much.
His thoughts returned to the Young Lady in Grey. He tried to make the whole affair sound heroic in his own mind.
But daylight had a way of making things look less romantic.
Last night, under the moon, everything had seemed exciting and wonderful.
This morning, on an empty stomach, things looked rather different.
He picked up his Norfolk jacket and spread it across his knees. Then he emptied the money from his pocket.
“Fourteen and sixpence halfpenny,” he muttered.
He checked his breast pocket and felt his wallet.
“Five pounds, fourteen and sixpence halfpenny left.”
He thought for a while.
“That wouldn’t matter.”
“It’s the bicycle that’s the problem.”
“No point going all the way back to Bognor.”
“I could send it back by a carrier, of course.”
“Dear Sir, Mr. J. Hoopdriver presents his compliments and thanks you for the loan of your bicycle…”
He chuckled at the idea.
Then his face became serious again.
“Or I could ride back there, return his bicycle, and take my old one instead.”
“My old machine is a miserable thing, but at least it belongs to me.”
“He’d probably have me arrested.”
“And then the Young Lady would be in trouble all over again.”
He sighed.
“You see, I’m supposed to be her knight-errant. That makes everything much more complicated.”
His eyes wandered around the room until they landed on the washstand.
“What on earth do they want with cream jugs in a bedroom?”
He shook his head.
“Best thing is to leave here as soon as possible.”
“She’ll probably go home to her friends.”
“And this bicycle is a terrible nuisance.”
“A terrible nuisance!”
He suddenly jumped out of bed and began getting dressed.
Then he remembered something else.
His face fell.
The things he needed for washing and shaving were still back in Bognor.
“Lord!”
He stood there for a moment, silently whistling.
“What a business this is.”
“Let’s see. Profit and loss.”
“Profit: one sister, complete with bicycle.”
“Cost: toothbrush, hairbrush, shirts, nightshirt, stockings, and all the rest.”
“Still, make the best of it.”
When he came to his hair, he had to smooth it down with his hands.
The result was not impressive.
“I suppose I’ll sneak out, get a shave, and buy a brush and the other things.”
“More money gone.”
He rubbed his chin.
“At least the beard doesn’t show much.”
He examined himself carefully in the mirror.
He curled his thin moustache with great concentration and looked at himself from one side, then the other.
His expression gradually became unhappy.
“Looking at yourself isn’t going to change anything, Hoopdriver.”
“You’re a pretty miserable-looking fellow.”
“Narrow shoulders.”
“Too thin.”
He rested his knuckles on the dressing table and lifted his chin.
“Good Lord! What a neck!”
“Why did I ever grow such a ridiculous lump there?”
He sat on the edge of the bed and continued staring at himself.
“If I’d had proper exercise…”
“If I’d been fed properly…”
“If I hadn’t been pushed out of that silly school and into that silly shop…”
“But there. My parents didn’t know any better.”
“The schoolmaster should have known better.”
“But the poor old fool probably didn’t.”
He sighed.
“Still, when it comes to meeting a girl like her…”
“That’s hard.”
He looked at himself again.
“I wonder what Adam would think of me.”
“Here I am, supposedly the product of thousands of years of civilisation.”
“And what am I?”
“Nothing much.”
“I know very little.”
“I can’t really do anything.”
“Well, I can draw a little.”
“Why wasn’t I made an artist?”
He looked down at his suit.
“And this suit looks terribly cheap in the daylight.”
“No use, Hoopdriver.”
“At least you don’t lie to yourself.”
“Romance isn’t really your game.”
“But there are other things you can do.”
“You can help that young lady.”
“And you will.”
“She’ll probably be going home.”
“And you still have to deal with that stolen bicycle.”
“So move, Hoopdriver!”
“You may not be handsome, but that’s no reason to stand here waiting to be arrested.”
That thought restored some of his confidence.
He made another attempt to fix his hair, then left the room and hurried downstairs for breakfast.
While the hotel prepared his breakfast, he walked out into South Street and bought the basic things he needed.
“No expense to be spared,” he muttered, handing over the half-sovereign.