By this time Welland had completely recovered, and was anxious to rise; all the more that a crowd of children surrounded him, among whom he observed several ladies and gentlemen, but he lay still until the kindly stranger had felt him all over and come to the conclusion that no serious damage had been done.
“Oh! I’m all right, thank you,” said the youth on rising, and affecting to move as though nothing had happened, but he was constrained to catch hold of the stranger rather suddenly, and sat down on the grass by the road-side.
“I do believe I’ve got a shake after all,” he said with a perplexed smile and sigh. “But,” he added, looking round with an attempt at gaiety, “I suspect my poor bicycle has got a worse shake. Do look after it, Sam, and see how it is.”
Twitter soon returned with a crestfallen expression. “It’s done for, Stephen. I’m sorry to say the whole concern seems to be mashed up into a kind of wire-fencing!”
“Is it past mending, Sam?”
“Past mending by any ordinary blacksmith, certainly. No one but the maker can doctor it, and I should think it would take him a fortnight at least.”
“What is to be done?” said Stephen, with some of his companion’s regret of tone. “What a fool I was to take such a hill—spoilt such a glorious day too—for you as well as myself, Sam. I’m very sorry, but that won’t mend matters.”
“Are you far from home, gentlemen?” asked the man with the iron-grey beard, who had listened to the conversation with a look of sympathy.
“Ay, much too far to walk,” said Welland. “D’you happen to know how far off the nearest railway station is?”
“Three miles,” answered the stranger, “and in your condition you are quite unfit to walk that distance.”