the
varying slope in mounting hills. This part of the mechanism he explained
to me elaborately. There was a gauge in front which allowed one to sight
the steepness of the slope by mere inspection; and according as the
gauge marked one, two, three, or four, as its gradient on the scale,
the rider pressed a button on the handle-bar with his left hand once,
twice, thrice, or four times, so that the gearing adapted itself without
an effort to the rise in the surface. Besides, there were devices for
rigidity and compensation. Altogether, it was a most apt and ingenious
piece of mechanism. I did not wonder he was proud of it.

'Get up and ride, miss,' he said in a persuasive voice.

I did as I was bid. To my immense surprise, I ran up the steep hill as
smoothly and easily as if it were a perfectly-laid level.

'Goes nicely, doesn't she?' Mr. Hitchcock murmured, rubbing his hands.

'Beautifully,' I answered. 'One could ride such a machine up Mont Blanc,
I should fancy.'

He stroked his chin with nervous fingers. 'It ought to knock 'em,' he
said, in an eager voice. 'It's geared to run up most anything in
creation.'

'How steep?'

'One foot in three.'

'That's good.'

'Yes. It'll climb Mount Washington.'

'What do you call it?' I asked.

He looked me over with close scrutiny.

'In Amurrica,' he said, slowly, 'we call it the Great Manitou, because
it kin do pretty well what it chooses; but in Europe, I am thinking of
calling it the Martin Conway or the Whymper, or something like that.'

'Why so?'

'Well, because it's a famous mountain climber.'

'I see,' I said. 'With such a machine you'll put a notice on the
Matterhorn, "This hill is dangerous to cyclists."'

He laughed low to himself, and rubbed his hands again. 'You'll do,
miss,' he said. 'You're the right sort, you are. The moment I seen you,
I thought we two could do a trade together. Benefits me; benefits you. A
mutual advantage. Reciprocity is the soul of business. You hev some go
in you, you hev. There's money in your feet. You'll give these Meinherrs
fits. You'll take the clear-starch out of them.'

'I fail to catch on,' I answered, speaking his own dialect to humour
him.

'Oh, you'll get there all the same,' he replied, stroking his machine
meanwhile. 'It was a squirrel, it was!' (He pronounced it _squirl_.) 'It
'ud run up a tree ef it wanted, wouldn't it?' He was talking to it now
as if it were a dog or a baby. 'There, there, it mustn't kick; i