“Don't know it,” said old Tom. “But a bicycle! You're sure it was a bicycle? Had two wheels?”
“It was a bicycle right enough.”
“Why! I remember a time, Teddy, where there was bicycles no end, when you could stand just here—the road was as smooth as a board then—and see twenty or thirty coming and going at the same time, bicycles and moty-bicycles; moty cars, all sorts of whirly things.”
“No!” said Teddy.
“I do. They'd keep on going by all day,—'undreds and 'undreds.”
“But where was they all going?” asked Teddy.
“Tearin' off to Brighton—you never seen Brighton, I expect—it's down by the sea, used to be a moce 'mazing place—and coming and going from London.”
“Why?”
“They did.”
“But why?”