The Wheels of Chance

By H. G. Wells, 1896. It has been a matter of critical agreement for some years that Mr. Wells is one of the young men who will certainly "arrive," but while the reviewers, standing watches in hands, wait with more or less impatience for the expected advent, Mr. Wells himself is in no hurry at all. He makes detours by side-paths leading nowhere in particular; he loiters along the roadside, he follows casual tramps and gypsies across the heaths to see what they are up to, he does everything but progress in an orderly and diligent fashion along the established route which brings one to Mudie's triumphal arch. Such is his perversity, indeed, that there begin to he doubts in certain quarters whether he will ever get there. Soon, it may be, we shall hear of grave suspicions that he has never really intended to do so.

The "Wheels of Chance" bear us off, it is true, into no wonderland of angels' descents, or time-machines. We simply go out on that most accustomed of thorough-fares, the Ripley road, and in our five days' wanderings we see only Guildford, Midhurst, Bognor, Chichester, and other places which have no relations whatever with the supernatural. At first sight, too, we are repelled rather than attracted by the company with which Mr. Wells has provided us for the journey. It is a sort of Tittlebat Titmouse, brought down into the late Victorian period, and given a bicycle, that we are asked to interest ourselves in, and this requires rather a determined effort, at the outset. That this draper's assistant should be called Mr. Hoopdriver is not encouraging, to begin with; and the early threat that the book is to deal entirely with his getting on and falling off his bicycle is flatly depressing. The numerous illustrations by Mr. Symington, too, though exhibiting a certain skill, do suggest a line of situations and episodes in which Ally Sloper would be more at home than the author of "The Wonderful Visit."

We speak in detail of this first impression only for the purpose of saying that it proves to be an entirely mistaken one. The reader who turns from the book because of it will either be sent back to it by some wiser friend, or will sustain a permanent loss. "The Wheels of Chance" is really a delightful book; genial, humorous, tender and altogether wholesome. Its fun seems here and there to be not quite spontaneous, and the quaintly melodramatic story of which Mr. Hoopdriver is made the hero is hampered by no considerations of probability. Yet none the less the reader, once enlisted, finds himself eagerly following this impossible plot, and laughing gaily at the jokes which he had not thought to like at all. Even where the sport comes near to be clowning, as it does on occasion, the restraint and skill of the artist are still apparent, and for the most part they are in full control. The ending is peculiarly effective, and we may say adroit. Hoopdriver, though a chivalrous knight-errant, remains also an "h" - less draper's assistant. What is to be done with him? He has merited a high reward, yet it is clear that he must not be allowed to marry the young lady. That would be as intolerably false in fiction as it would be tragic in real life. There is nothing false, but there is much that is beautiful, and even inspiring, in the poetic termination which Mr. Wells has had the heart to give to his light-hearted fantasy.