I require them to precipitate the tannin in my tea," he remarked to the room at large, and folding his hands, remained for some time with his chin thereon, staring fixedly at a little picture over Mr. Hoopdriver's head.
"I myself am a cyclist," said the clergyman, descending suddenly upon Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Indeed!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, attacking the moustache. "What machine, may I ask?"
"I have recently become possessed of a tricycle. A bicycle is, I regret to say, considered too—how shall I put it?—flippant by my parishioners. So I have a tricycle. I have just been hauling it hither."
"Hauling!" said Jessie, surprised.
"With a shoe lace. And partly carrying it on my back."
The pause was unexpected. Jessie had some trouble with a crumb. Mr. Hoopdriver's face passed through several phases of surprise. Then he saw the explanation. "Had an accident?"
"I can hardly call it an accident. The wheels suddenly refused to go round. I found myself about five miles from here with an absolutely immobile machine."
"'Ow!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, trying to seem intelligent, and Jessie glanced at this insane person.
"It appears," said the clergyman, satisfied with
