d
I want one that sort. That's jest why I trailed you, see? Besides which,
there's some style about you.'

'Style!' I repeated.

'Yes,' he went on; 'you know how to use your feet; and you have good
understandings.'

I gathered from his glance that he referred to my nether limbs. We are
all vertebrate animals; why seek to conceal the fact?

'I fail to follow you,' I answered frigidly; for I really didn't know
what the man might say next.

[Illustration: SEEMS I DIDN'T MAKE MUCH OF A JOB OF IT.]

'That's so!' he replied. 'It was _I_ that followed _you_; seems I didn't
make much of a job of it, either, anyway.'

I mounted my machine again. 'Well, good morning,' I said, coldy. 'I am
much obliged for your kind assistance; but your remark was fictitious,
and I desire to go on unaccompanied.'

He held up his hand in warning. 'You ain't going!' he cried, horrified.
'You ain't going without hearing me! I mean business, say! Don't chuck
away good money like that. I tell you, there's dollars in it.'

'In what?' I asked, still moving on, but curious. On the slope, if need
were, I could easily distance him.

'Why, in this cycling of yours,' he replied. 'You're jest about the very
woman I'm looking for, miss. Lithe--that's what I call you. I kin put
you in the way of making your pile, I kin. This is a _bona-fide_ offer.
No flies on _my_ business! You decline it? Prejudice! Injures you;
injures me! Be reasonable anyway!'

I looked round and laughed. 'Formulate yourself,' I said, briefly.

He rose to it like a man. 'Meet me at Fraunheim; corner by the Post
Office; ten o'clock to-morrow morning,' he shouted, as I rode off, 'and
ef I don't convince you there's money in this job, my name's not Cyrus
W. Hitchcock.'

Something about his keen, unlovely face impressed me with a sense of his
underlying honesty. 'Very well,' I answered,'I'll come, if you follow me
no further.' I reflected that Fraunheim was a populous village, and that
only beyond it did the mountain road over the Taunus begin to grow
lonely. If he wished to cut my throat, I was well within reach of the
resources of civilisation.

When I got home to the Abode of Blighted Fraus that evening, I debated
seriously with myself whether or not I should accept Mr. Cyrus W.
Hitchcock's mysterious invitation. Prudence said _no_; curiosity said
_yes_; I put the question to a meeting of one; and, since I am a
daughter of Eve, curiosity had it. Carried unanimously. I think