Hoopdriver pointed out the dangers of stopping in
such an obvious abiding-place, and gently but firmly insisted
upon replenishing the lamps and riding on towards Salisbury. From
Winchester, roads branch in every direction, and to turn abruptly
westward was clearly the way to throw off the chase. As
Hoopdriver saw the moon rising broad and yellow through the
twilight, he thought he should revive the effect of that ride out
of Bognor; but somehow, albeit the moon and all the atmospheric
effects were the same, the emotions were different. They rode in
absolute silence, and slowly after they had cleared the outskirts
of Winchester. Both of them were now nearly tired out,--the level
was tedious, and even a little hill a burden; and so it came
about that in the hamlet of Wallenstock they were beguiled to
stop and ask for accommodation in an exceptionally
prosperouslooking village inn. A plausible landlady rose to the
occasion.
Now, as they passed into the room where their suppers were
prepared, Mr. Hoopdriver caught a glimpse through a door ajar and
floating in a reek of smoke, of three and a half faces-- for the
edge of the door cut one down--and an American cloth-covered
table with several glasses and a tankard. And he also heard a
remark. In the second before he heard that remark, Mr. Hoopdriver
had been a proud and happy man, to particularize, a baronet's
heir incognito. He had surrendered their bicycles to the odd man
of the place with infinite easy dignity, and had bowingly opened
the door for Jessie.
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