IN THE NEW FOREST
"Precisely. And not brooking my defeat, I suffered repeatedly. You may understand, perhaps, a natural impatience. I expostulated—playfully, of course. Happily the road was not overlooked. Finally the entire apparatus became rigid, and I abandoned the unequal contest. For all practical purposes the tricycle was no better than a heavy chair without casters. It was a case of hauling or carrying."
The clergyman's nutriment appeared in the doorway.
"Five miles," said the clergyman.
He began at once to eat bread and butter vigorously. "Happily," he said, "I am an eupeptic, energetic sort of person—on principle. I would all men were likewise."
"It's the best way," agreed Mr. Hoopdriver, and the conversation gave precedence to bread and butter.
"Gelatine," said the clergyman presently, stirring his tea thoughtfully, "precipitates the tannin in one's tea and renders it easy of digestion."
"That's a useful sort of thing to know," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"You are altogether welcome," said the clergyman, biting generously at two pieces of bread and butter folded together.
In the afternoon our two wanderers rode on at an easy pace towards Stoney Cross. Conversation languished, the topic of South Africa being in abeyance. Mr. Hoopdriver was silenced by disagreeable thoughts. He had changed the last sovereign at Ringwood. The fact had come upon him suddenly.
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