Rachel sat dazed in the road, and her voice was uncertain as she
told Louis to examine the bicycle. One of the pedals was bent, and
prevented the back wheel from making a complete revolution.
"It's nothing," said Louis. "I'll have it right in the morning."
"Who's that?" Rachel, who had risen, gasping, turned to him excitedly
as he was bending over the bicycle. Conscious that somebody had been
standing at the corner of the street, he glanced up. A figure was
moving quickly down Moorthorne Road in the direction of the station.
"I dun'no," said he.
"It's not Julian, is it?"
In a peculiar tone Louis replied--
"Looks like him, doesn't it?" And then impulsively he yelled "Hi!"
The figure kept on its way.
"Seeing that the inimitable Julian's still in South Africa, it can't
very well be him. And, anyhow, I'm not going to run after him."
"No, of course it can't," Rachel assented.
Presently the returning procession was re-formed. Louis pushed the
bicycle on its front wheel, and Rachel tried to help him to support
the weight of the suspended part. He had attempted in vain to take the
pedal off the crank.
"It's perhaps a good thing you fell just then," said Louis. "Because
old Batch is coming in to-night, and we'd better not be late.
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