THE BICYCLE MANUFACTURER
"I am," said Sid. "Married these two years and got a nipper. Proper little chap."
Kipps got his word in at last. "I got engaged day before yesterday," he said.
"Ah!" said Sid airily. "That's all right. Who's the fortunate lady?"
Kipps tried to speak in an off-hand way. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he spoke. "She's a solicitor's daughter," he said, "in Folkestone. Rather'r nice set. County family. Related to the Earl of Beaupres———"
"Steady on!" cried Sid.
"You see, I've 'ad a bit of luck, Sid. Been lef' money."
Sid's eye travelled instinctively to mark Kipps' garments. "How much?" he asked.
"'Bout twelve 'undred a year," said Kipps, more off-handedly than ever.
"Lord!" said Sid, with a note of positive dismay, and stepped back a pace or two.
"My granfaver it was," said Kipps, trying hard to be calm and simple. "'Ardly knew I 'ad a granfaver. And then—bang! When o' Bean, the solicitor, told me of it, you could 'ave knocked me down———"
"'Ow much?" demanded Sid, with a sharp note in his voice.
"Twelve 'undred pound a year—'proximately, that is. . . ."
Sid's attempt at genial unenvious congratulation did not last a minute. He shook hands with an unreal heartiness and said he was jolly glad. "It's a blooming stroke of Luck," he said.
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