oad road pretty much to himself.

Quickly he ran into the suburban districts, and here his urgent haste
had to be restrained a little.

"What if I am too late!" he thought, and almost involuntarily put on a
spurt.

Soon he entered the crowded thoroughfares, and was compelled to curb
both steed and spirit. Passing through one of the less-frequented
streets in the neighbourhood of Finchley Road, he ventured to give the
rein to his willing charger.

But here Fortune ceased to smile--and Fortune was to be commended for
her severity.

Barret, although kind, courteous, manly, sensitive, and reasonably
careful, was not just what he ought to have been. Although a hero, he
was not perfect. He committed the unpardonable sin of turning a street
corner sharply! A thin little old lady crossed the road at the same
identical moment, slowly. They met! Who can describe that meeting?
Not the writer, for he did not see it; more's the pity! Very few people
saw it, for it was a quiet corner. The parties concerned cannot be said
to have seen, though they felt it. Both went down. It was awful,
really, to see a feeble old lady struggling with an athlete and a
bicycle!

Two little street boys, and a ragged girl appeared as if by magic. They
always do!

"Oh! I say! Ain't he bin and squashed 'er?"

Such was the remark of one of the boys.

"Pancakes is plump to 'er," was the observation of the other.

The ragged girl said nothing, but looked unspeakable things.

Burning with shame, trembling with anxiety, covered with dust and
considerably bruised, Barret sprang up, left his fallen steed, and,
raising the little old lady with great tenderness in his arms, sat her
on the pavement with her back against the railings, while he poured out
abject apologies and earnest inquiries.

Strange to say the old lady was not hurt in the least--only a good deal
shaken and very indignant.

Stranger still, a policeman suddenly appeared in the distance. At the
same time a sweep, a postman, and a servant girl joined the group.

Young Barret, as we have said, was sensitive. To become the object and
centre of a crowd in such circumstances was overwhelming. A climax was
put to his confusion, when one of the street arabs, observing the
policeman, suddenly exclaimed:--

"Oh! I say, 'ere's a bobby! What a lark. Won't you be 'ad up before
the beaks? It'll be a case o' murder."

"No, it won't," retorted the other boy; "it'll be a case