As he pressed in the long darkness that lay between Slaters Mill and Durbeyhouses, he saw a light ahead—another cyclist. He moved to his side of the road. The light approached very fast. It was a strong acetylene flare. He watched it. A flash and a splash and he saw the humped back of what was probably Ciccio going by at a great pace on the low racing machine.
"Hi Cic'—! Ciccio!" he yelled, dropping off his own bicycle.
"Ha-er-er!" he heard the answering shout, unmistakably Italian, way down the darkness.
He turned—saw the other cyclist had stopped. The flare swung round, and Ciccio softly rode up. He dropped off beside Geoffrey. "Toi!" said Ciccio.
"Hé! Où vas-tu?"
"Hé!" ejaculated Ciccio.
Their conversation consisted a good deal in noises variously ejaculated.
"Coming back?" asked
