CHITTERLOW
He remained in that position for some seconds awaiting further developments, and believing almost anything broken before his heart. Gathering at last that this temporary violence of things in general was over, and being perhaps assisted by a clutching hand, he arose, and found himself confronting a figure holding a bicycle and thrusting forward a dark face in anxious scrutiny.
"You aren't hurt, Matey?" gasped the figure.
"Was that you 'it me?" said Kipps.
"It's these handles, you know," said the figure with an air of being a fellow-sufferer. "They're too low. And when I go to turn, if I don't remember, Bif!—and I'm in to something."
"Well—you give me a oner in the back—anyhow," said Kipps, taking stock of his damages.
"I was coming down hill, you know," explained the bicyclist. "These little Folkestone hills are a Fair Treat. It isn't as though I'd been on the level. I came rather a whop."
"You did that," said Kipps.
“I was back pedalling for all I was worth anyhow," said the bicyclist. "Not that I am worth much back pedalling."
He glanced round and made a sudden movement almost as if to mount his machine. Then he turned as rapidly to Kipps again, who was now stooping down, pursuing the tale of his injuries.
"Here's the back of my trouser leg all tore down," said Kipps, "and I believe I'm bleeding. You reely ought to be more careful———"
The stranger investigated the damage with a rapid
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