There was one thing you should know about Hoopdriver.
He was not what anyone would call a ladies’ man.
He had spent years working behind a shop counter, where women came to buy clothes and he stood politely on the other side.
That distance had shaped him.
He could bow to a young woman.
He could smile nervously at her.
He could even walk one of his female coworkers to church on Sunday.
But that was about as far as his courage went.
Most young men would have laughed at him if they had heard anyone call him a romantic hero.
And then there was his bicycle.
Hoopdriver had bought it secondhand from Hare’s shop in Putney.
The bicycle had already belonged to several people.
Calling it “secondhand” was probably too generous.
It was ancient.
Even the man who sold it seemed slightly surprised that anyone still wanted it.
“It may be old-fashioned,” Hare had said, “but it’s perfectly sound.”
He had said nothing about the bicycle’s history.
Perhaps its first owner had been a young poet.
Perhaps it had belonged to some extremely bad man.
Nobody knew.
But bicycles had a strange habit.
They seemed to develop personalities of their own.
And sometimes they developed very bad habits.
Hoopdriver was about to discover that his bicycle had a particularly strange reaction to women.
He was riding along when he suddenly saw her.
A young woman in gray.
The moment his bicycle noticed her, it seemed to lose its mind.
It began wobbling violently.
Hoopdriver tried to control it.
The bicycle responded by making even larger curves across the road.
He had never ridden so badly in his life.
He suddenly realized that his cap was slipping off his head.
His breathing was getting heavier.
And then he looked at the young woman again.
She was riding a bicycle too.
She wore a beautiful blue-gray dress.
The morning sun was behind her, outlining her figure in gold while leaving most of her face in shadow.
She was young.
Slim.
Dark-haired.
Her cheeks were bright with exercise.
And her eyes seemed unusually lively.
Hoopdriver wasn’t quite sure what she was wearing below the waist.
He had heard about this new style of women’s cycling clothes.
Perhaps it was French.
Whatever it was, she wore it with complete confidence.
Her bicycle was much better than his.
The handlebars gleamed in the sunlight.
Even her bell flashed brightly.
She was coming from one of the roads leading out from the villas around Surbiton.
Their roads were slowly coming together.
Hoopdriver realized that they were heading toward the same point.
They were going to meet.
His heart began pounding.
He immediately noticed how badly he was riding compared with her.
“What should I do?”
He considered getting off the bicycle and pretending something was wrong.
That seemed sensible.
But then he remembered his recent disaster on Putney Heath.
He wasn’t even sure he could get off properly.
On the other hand, if he stayed on the bicycle, what would happen?
He couldn’t ride slowly behind her like some frightened schoolboy.
That would hardly make him look like a man.
But he couldn’t race ahead of her either.
That would be rude.
Besides, his bicycle was already taking up most of the road.
His whole life had trained him to step aside politely when women approached.
If only he could take his hands off the handlebars, he could at least raise his cap and greet her properly.
Unfortunately, that would probably result in another accident.
The roads were getting closer.
She was looking directly at him now.
Her lips parted slightly.
She might even have been smiling.
And then Hoopdriver finally realized what she was wearing.
Cycling trousers.
Real ones.
“Good Lord…”
He suddenly wanted to escape.
His bicycle seemed to agree.
He began pedaling desperately, hoping to get past her before the situation became even more embarrassing.
Then his front wheel struck a piece of metal lying in the road.
The object flew up between the wheel and the mudguard.
Hoopdriver jerked sideways.
He looked at the girl.
For one horrible moment, he wondered if his bicycle was actually possessed.
Then he realized what he should have done.
He should have gotten off.
He tried to correct the bicycle.
“Whoa!”
He swerved.
The machine shot behind the girl’s rear wheel, missing her by only a few inches.
Hoopdriver breathed again.
Then he saw the pavement.
Too late.
The bicycle jumped onto it.
He tried desperately to regain control.
Instead, he rode straight toward a wooden fence.
Crash!
The front of the bicycle slammed into it.
Hoopdriver flew over the saddle.
His arms and legs became tangled with the machine.
Then he fell sideways.
Finally, he landed sitting on the gravel with his feet trapped between parts of the bicycle.
For several seconds, he simply sat there.
Everything hurt.
His pride hurt even more.
He wished he had broken his neck.
He almost wished he had never been born.
So much for being a duke.
So much for being a gentleman.
And what was the point of all this?
He had been defeated by a girl.
A girl who probably knew how to ride a bicycle better than he did.
He heard a soft mechanical whir.
Then the click of a brake.
Footsteps approached.
The young woman had stopped and come back.
Now the sunlight was shining directly on her face.
“Are you hurt?”
Her voice was clear, gentle, and surprisingly young.
Hoopdriver stood up immediately.
“Not at all.”
He tried to sound confident.
Unfortunately, half the gravel from the road seemed to be stuck to his new cycling suit.
He looked ridiculous.
“I’m very sorry…”
She interrupted him.
“It’s my fault.”
Hoopdriver stopped.
She smiled.
“I tried to pass you on the wrong side.”
She looked completely calm.
Then she added:
“I should have realized you were a beginner.”
Hoopdriver’s pride recovered slightly.
“You mean I looked like a beginner?”
She tilted her head.
“Not really. You were riding surprisingly straight back there.”
That made him feel better.
Then he looked at her properly.
She was extremely pretty.
His mood rose from complete despair to something much closer to happiness.
When he spoke again, his voice had gained a little more confidence.
“This is actually my first proper ride.”
He brushed the dirt from his clothes.
“But that doesn’t excuse my rather unfortunate performance.”
She suddenly looked at his hand.
“Your finger is bleeding.”
Hoopdriver looked down.
His knuckle had been scraped.
He hadn’t even noticed.
“I didn’t feel it.”
“You usually don’t at first.”
She balanced her bicycle against herself.
“Do you have any sticking plaster?”
“No.”
She reached into a small side pocket.
“I do.”
She pulled out a little packet of sticking plaster and a tiny pair of scissors.
Then she cut off a piece and handed it to him.
Hoopdriver had a sudden, foolish desire to ask her to put it on for him.
Fortunately, he managed to control himself.
“Thank you.”
She looked over at his bicycle.
“Is the machine all right?”
Hoopdriver turned around.
For the first time, he felt slightly ashamed of his bicycle.
It was lying on the ground in a miserable heap.
“I think so.”
He bent down and began picking it up.
When he looked over his shoulder again, the girl was already riding away.
“Wait!”
But she was gone.
Hoopdriver stared after her.
“Well, I’ll be…”
His mind was spinning.
What had just happened?
A beautiful, confident young woman had suddenly appeared in his life.
And now she was disappearing from it again.
She had looked at him.
She had spoken to him.
She had even helped him.
And then she had ridden away.
The holiday excitement rushed through him again.
He had to see her once more.
Hoopdriver dragged his bicycle into the road.
He tried to mount it.
Failed.
“Come on!”
He tried again.
Nothing.
“She’ll be around the corner by now.”
He tried a third time.
His foot missed the pedal.
“Damn it!”
Again.
This time he managed to get onto the bicycle.
He immediately leaned forward.
He was going after her.
For a few glorious minutes, the timid shop assistant disappeared.
There was only a young man chasing after a girl he had just met.
He pedaled with all his strength.
His bicycle rattled beneath him.
His legs worked furiously.
The girl disappeared around the corner.
Hoopdriver followed.
He had no idea what he would say when he caught up with her.
That question could wait.
Right now, he had to catch her.
She had looked wonderful.
Her cheeks were flushed from riding.
She looked healthy, energetic, and completely alive.
She was nothing like the pale, overly proper girls he knew from the shop.
But what exactly was he going to say to her?
That was the problem.
He couldn’t simply walk up and say hello.
He couldn’t even lift his cap without risking another accident.
She was clearly a real lady.
Not one of the shop girls.
Hoopdriver had always felt that shop assistants and shop girls belonged to completely different worlds.
And this girl seemed to belong to a world far above his.
He pushed harder.
“May I ask your name?”
He tried saying it to himself.
It sounded ridiculous.
He tried another version.
Nothing seemed right.
Then he remembered he had a business card.
That might help.
He could give her his card.
What a brilliant idea.
He was beginning to feel confident again.
Unfortunately, he was also beginning to run out of breath.
The road was climbing.
He turned the corner.
Far ahead, he caught another glimpse of gray.
There she was!
Hoopdriver gritted his teeth.
He pedaled harder.
A small boy standing beside the road shouted:
“Look out!”
Hoopdriver ignored him.
His breathing became loud.
His steering became less stable.
His legs were working desperately.
Sweat ran into his eye.
The road was definitely going uphill now.
Every muscle in his body was complaining.
Still, he pushed on.
He reached another corner.
He turned it.
Nothing.
The road ahead was empty except for a baker’s van.
The girl was gone.
Hoopdriver finally gave up.
“Oh, Lord…”
He got off the bicycle.
His legs felt like pieces of string.
He leaned the machine against the grass and sat down.
He was breathing heavily.
His hands were shaking.
The veins stood out on them.
He wiped his face.
“I really am out of shape.”
His legs felt as heavy as lead.
“I don’t feel as if I’ve even had breakfast.”
After resting for a moment, he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a brand-new cigarette case and a packet of cigarettes.
He opened the case and filled it.
Then he looked down at his new stockings.
They were still neat and attractive.
He stared at them for a while.
His thoughts returned to the girl.
“She was incredible.”
He smiled faintly.
“I wonder if I’ll ever see her again.”
“She could really ride.”
He paused.
“I wonder what she thought of me.”
The words “bloomin’ duke” suddenly came back to him.
That thought made him feel slightly better.
At least the heath-keeper had thought he looked like a gentleman.
Hoopdriver lit his cigarette.
He sat quietly beside the road, smoking and thinking about the mysterious girl in gray.
For nearly ten minutes, he hardly noticed anything around him.
Then he suddenly shook himself.
“This is ridiculous.”
“What good is all this thinking going to do?”
He looked down at himself.
“I’m only a draper’s assistant.”
That was the truth.
He stood up and began pushing his bicycle toward Esher.
The day was still beautiful.
The countryside stretched out before him.
The trees and hedges looked magnificent after so many years of seeing little more than shop windows and city streets.
But his excitement had changed.
Something new had entered his thoughts.
Then a nursemaid walking beside a baby carriage pointed at him.
“Look at that gentleman on his bicycle!”
Hoopdriver heard her.
His spirits lifted immediately.
“Gentleman on his bicycle…”
He smiled.
“Bloomin’ duke…”
Maybe he didn’t look so terrible after all.
He continued along the road.
Then he noticed something.
A single dark track ran smoothly along the road ahead.
It was the mark left by a pneumatic bicycle tire.
Hoopdriver looked at it with sudden interest.
It had to be hers.
No other pneumatic bicycle had passed along the road that morning.
He followed the track with his eyes.
Perhaps he would see her again.
Perhaps she would turn around.
Perhaps they would meet once more.
He began imagining what kind of girl she was.
Maybe she was one of those “New Women” he had heard people talking about.
Perhaps those women were not as strange as everyone claimed.
After all, this girl was clearly confident and independent.
And she was certainly a lady.
Probably wealthy too.
Her bicycle must have cost at least twenty pounds.
Hoopdriver thought about that for a while.
Then his mind returned to her appearance.
The new cycling clothes didn’t make her look unfeminine at all.
Quite the opposite.
She looked wonderful.
Still, Hoopdriver decided he wasn’t interested in her money.
He wasn’t the kind of man who chased wealthy women.
At least, that was what he told himself.
Then his stomach interrupted his thoughts.
He suddenly realized something much more important.
He was hungry.
“First things first,” he muttered.
“I need something to eat.”
He looked ahead.
The next public house would do nicely.