THE BICYCLE MANUFACTURER
"'Ow much?"
"Five pounds."
"Keep five families for a week! Good Lord!" That seemed to crown Sid's disgust.
Yet drawn by a sort of fascination he came with Kipps and assisted at the mounting of the car. He was pleased to note it was not the most modern of cars, but that was the only grain of comfort. Kipps mounted at once, after one violent agitation of the little shop-door to set the bell a-jingle and warn his Uncle and Aunt. Sid assisted with the great fur-lined overcoat and examined the spectacles.
"Good-bye, o' chap!" said Kipps.
"Good-bye, o' chap!" said Sid.
The old people came out to say good-bye.
Old Kipps was radiant with triumph. "'Pon my Sammy, Artie! I'm a goo' mind to come with you," he shouted, and then, "I got something you might take with you!"
He dodged back into the shop and returned with the perforated engraving after Morland.
"You stick to this, my boy," he said. "You get it repaired by someone who knows. It's the most vallyble thing I got you so far, you take my word."
"Warrup!" said the motor, and tuff, tuff, tuff, and backed and snorted while old Kipps danced about on the pavement as if foreseeing complex catastrophes, and told the driver, "That's all right."
He waved his stout stick to his receding nephew. Then he turned to Sid. "Now if you could make something like that, young Pornick, you might blow a bit!"
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