CHAPTER SEVEN.
BICYCLING AND ITS OCCASIONAL RESULTS.
It is pleasant to turn from the smoke and turmoil of the city to thefresh air and quiet of the country.
To the man who spends most of his time in the heart of London, goinginto the country--even for a short distance--is like passing into thefields of Elysium. This was, at all events, the opinion of StephenWelland; and Stephen must have been a good judge, for he tried thechange frequently, being exceedingly fond of bicycling, and occasionallytaking what he termed long spins on that remarkable instrument.
One morning, early in the summer-time, young Welland, (he was onlyeighteen), mounted his iron horse in the neighbourhood of Kensington,and glided away at a leisurely pace through the crowded streets.Arrived in the suburbs of London he got up steam, to use his own phrase,and went at a rapid pace until he met a "chum," by appointment. Thischum was also mounted on a bicycle, and was none other than our friendSamuel Twitter, Junior--known at home as Sammy, and by his companions asSam.
"Isn't it a glorious day, Sam?" said Welland as he rode up and sprangoff his steed.
"Magnificent!" answered his friend, also dismounting and shaking hands."Why, Stephen, what an enormous machine you ride!"
"Yes, it's pretty high--48 inches. My legs are long, you see. Well,where are we to run to-day?"
"Wherever you like," said Sam, "only let it be a short run, not morethan forty miles, for I've got an appointment this afternoon with my olddad which I can't get off."
"That'll do very well," said Welland, "so we can go round by--"
Here he described a route by country road and village, which we pretendnot to remember. It is sufficient to know that it represented therequired "short" run of forty miles--such is the estimate of distance bythe youth of the present day!
"Now then, off we go," said Welland, giving his wheel--he quite ignoredthe existence of the little thing at the back--a shove, putting his leftfoot on the treadle, and flinging his right leg gracefully over.
Young Twitter followed suit, but Sammy was neither expert nor graceful.True, he could ride easily, and travel long distances, but he could onlymount by means of the somewhat clumsy process of hopping behind forseveral yards.
Once up, however, he went swiftly enough alongside his tall companion,and the two friends thereafter kept abreast.
"Oh! isn't it a charming sensation to have the cool air fanning one'scheeks, and feel the soft tremor of the wheel, and see the trees andhouses flow past at such a pace? It is the likest thing to flying Iever felt," said Welland, as they descended a slight incline at,probably, fifteen miles an hour.
"It is delightful," replied Sam, "but, I say, we better put on thebrakes here a bit. It gets much steeper further down."
Instead of applying the brake, however, young Welland, in the exuberanceof his joy, threw his long legs over the handles, and went down theslope at railway speed, ready, as he remarked, for a jump if anythingshould go wrong.
Twitter was by no means as bold as his friend, but, being ashamed toshow the white feather, he quietly threw his shorter legs over thehandles, and thus the two, perched--from a fore-and-aft point of view--upon nothing, went in triumph to the bottom of the hill.
A long stretch of smooth level road now lay before them. It requiredthe merest touch on the treadles to send them skimming along likeskaters on smooth ice, or swallows flying low. Like gentle ghosts theyfleeted along with little more than a muffled sound, for their axlesturned in ball-sockets and their warning bells were silent save whentouched.
Onward they went with untiring energy, mile after mile, passingeverything on the way--pedestrians, equestrians, carts and gigs; drivingover the level ground with easy force, taking the hills with a rush tokeep up the pace, and descending on the other sides at what Wellandstyled a "lightning run."
Now they were skimming along a road which skirted the margin of a canal,the one with hands in his coat-pockets, the other with his arms crossed,and both steering with their feet; now passing under a railway-arch, andgiving a wild shout, partly to rouse the slumbering echoes that lodgedthere, and partly to rouse the spirit of a small dog which chanced to bepassing under it--in both cases successfully! Anon they were glidingover a piece of exposed ground on which the sun beat with intense light,causing their shadows to race along with them. Again they were down ina hollow, gliding under a row of trees, where they shut off a little ofthe steam and removed their caps, the better to enjoy the gratefulshade. Soon they were out in the sunshine again, the spokes of theirwheels invisible as they topped a small eminence from the summit ofwhich they took in one comprehensive view of undulating lands, withvillages scattered all round, farm-houses here and there, green fieldsand flowering meadows, traversed by rivulet or canal, with cattle,sheep, and horses gazing at them in silent or startled wonder, and birdstwittering welcome from the trees and hedge-rows everywhere.
Now they were crossing a bridge and nearing a small town where they hadto put hands to the handles again and steer with precaution, for littledogs had a tendency to bolt out at them from unexpected corners, andpoultry is prone to lose its heads and rush into the very jaws ofdanger, in a cackling effort to avoid it. Stray kittens and pigs, too,exhibited obstinate tendencies, and only gave in when it was nearly toolate for repentance. Little children, also, became sources of danger,standing in the middle of roads until, perceiving a possiblecatastrophe, they dashed wildly aside--always to the very side on whichthe riders had resolved to pass,--and escaped by absolute miracle!
Presently they came to a steep hill. It was not steep enough tonecessitate dismounting, but it rendered a rush inadvisable. Theytherefore worked up slowly, and, on gaining the top, got off to breatheand rest a while.
"That _was_ a glorious run, wasn't it, Sam?" said Welland, flicking thedust from his knees with his handkerchief. "What d'ye say to a glass ofbeer?"
"Can't do it, Stephen, I'm Blue Ribbon."
"Oh! nonsense. Why not do as I do--drink in moderation?"
"Well, I didn't think much about it when I put it on," said Sam, who wasa very sensitive, and not very strong-minded youth; "the rest of us didit, you know, by father's advice, and I joined because they did."
Welland laughed rather sarcastically at this, but made no rejoinder, andSam, who could not stand being laughed at, said--
"Well, come, I'll go in for one glass. I'll be my own doctor, andprescribe it medicinally! Besides, it's an exceptional occasion this,for it is awfully hot."
"It's about the best run I ever had in the same space of time," saidWelland on quitting the beer shop.
"First-rate," returned Sam, "I wish my old dad could ride with us. He_would_ enjoy it so."
"Couldn't we bring him out on a horse? He could ride that, I suppose?"
"Never saw him on a horse but once," said Sam, "and that time he felloff. But it's worth suggesting to him."
"Better if he got a tricycle," said Welland.
"I don't think that would do, for he's too old for long rides, and tooshort-winded. Now, Stephen, I'm not going to run down this hill. We_must_ take it easy, for it's far too steep."
"Nonsense, man, it's nothing to speak of; see, I'll go first and showyou the way."
He gave the treadle a thrust that sent him off like an arrow from a bow.
"Stay! there's a caravan or something at the bottom--wild beasts' show,I think! Stop! hold on!"
But Sam Twitter shouted in vain. Welland's was a joyous spirit, apt torun away with him. He placed his legs over the handles for security,and allowed the machine to run. It gathered speed as it went, for thehill became steeper, insomuch that the rider once or twice felt thehind-wheel rise, and had to lean well back to keep it on the ground.The pace began to exceed even Welland's idea of pleasure, but now it wastoo late to use the brake, for well did he know that on such a slope andgoing at such a pace the slightest check on the front wheel would sendhim over. He did not feel alarmed however, for he was now near thebottom of the hil
l, and half a minute more would send him in safety onthe level road at the foot.
But just at the foot there was a sharpish turn in the road, and Wellandlooked at it earnestly. At an ordinary pace such a turn could have beeneasily taken, but at such a rate as he had by that time attained, hefelt it would require a tremendous lean over to accomplish it. Still helost no confidence, for he was an athlete by practice if not byprofession, and he gathered up his energies for the moment of action.
The people of the caravan--whoever they were--had seen him coming, and,beginning to realise his danger to some extent, had hastily cleared theroad to let him pass.
Welland considered the rate of speed; felt, rather than calculated, theangle of inclination; leaned over boldly until the tire almost slippedsideways on the road, and came rushing round with a magnificent sweep,when, horrible sight! a slight ridge of what is called road-metalcrossed the entire road from side to side! A drain or water pipe hadrecently been repaired, and the new ridge had not yet been worn down bytraffic. There was no time for thought or change of action. Anothermoment and the wheel was upon it, the crash came, and the rider went offwith such force that he was shot well in advance of the machine, as itwent with tremendous violence into the ditch. If Welland's feet hadbeen on the treadles he must have turned a complete somersault. As itwas he alighted on his feet, but came to the ground with such force thathe failed to save himself. One frantic effort he made and then wentdown headlong and rolled over on his back in a state of insensibility.
When Sam Twitter came to the bottom of the hill with the brake wellapplied he was able to check himself in time to escape the danger, andran to where his friend lay.
For a few minutes the unfortunate youth lay as if he had been dead.Then his blood resumed its flow, and when the eyes opened he found Samkneeling on one side of him with a smelling bottle which some lady hadlent him, and a kindly-faced elderly man with an iron-grey beardkneeling on the other side and holding a cup of water to his lips.
"That's right, Stephen, look up," said Sam, who was terribly frightened,"you're not much hurt, are you?"
"Hurt, old fellow, eh?" sighed Stephen, "why should I be hurt? Where amI? What has happened?"
"Take a sip, my young friend, it will revive you," said the man with thekindly face. "You have had a narrow escape, but God has mercifullyspared you. Try to move now; gently--we must see that no bones havebeen broken before allowing you to rise."
By this time Welland had completely recovered, and was anxious to rise;all the more that a crowd of children surrounded him, among whom heobserved several ladies and gentlemen, but he lay still until the kindlystranger had felt him all over and come to the conclusion that noserious damage had been done.
"Oh! I'm all right, thank you," said the youth on rising, and affectingto move as though nothing had happened, but he was constrained to catchhold of the stranger rather suddenly, and sat down on the grass by theroad-side.
"I do believe I've got a shake after all," he said with a perplexedsmile and sigh. "But," he added, looking round with an attempt atgaiety, "I suspect my poor bicycle has got a worse shake. Do look afterit, Sam, and see how it is."
Twitter soon returned with a crestfallen expression. "It's done for,Stephen. I'm sorry to say the whole concern seems to be mashed up intoa kind of wire-fencing!"
"Is it past mending, Sam?"
"Past mending by any ordinary blacksmith, certainly. No one but themaker can doctor it, and I should think it would take him a fortnight atleast."
"What is to be done?" said Stephen, with some of his companion's regretof tone. "What a fool I was to take such a hill--spoilt such a gloriousday too--for you as well as myself, Sam. I'm _very_ sorry, but thatwon't mend matters."
"Are you far from home, gentlemen?" asked the man with the iron-greybeard, who had listened to the conversation with a look of sympathy.
"Ay, much too far to walk," said Welland. "D'you happen to know how faroff the nearest railway station is?"
"Three miles," answered the stranger, "and in your condition you arequite unfit to walk that distance."
"I'm not so sure of that," replied the youth, with a pitiful look. "Ithink I'm game for three miles, if I had nothing to carry but myself,but I can't leave my bicycle in the ditch, you know!"
"Of course you can't," rejoined the stranger in a cheery tone, "and Ithink we can help you in this difficulty. I am a London CityMissionary. My name is John Seaward. We have, as you see, brought outa number of our Sunday-school children, to give them a sight of God'sbeautiful earth; poor things, they've been used to bricks, mortar, andstone all their lives hitherto. Now, if you choose to spend theremainder of the day with us, we will be happy to give you and theinjured bicycle a place in our vans till we reach a cabstand or arailway station. What say you? It will give much pleasure to me andthe teachers."
Welland glanced at his friend. "You see, Sam, there's no help for it,old boy. You'll have to return alone."
"Unless your friend will also join us," said the missionary.
"You are very kind," said Sam, "but I cannot stay, as I have anengagement which must be kept. Never mind, Stephen. I'll just completethe trip alone, and comfort myself with the assurance that I leave youin good hands. So, good-bye, old boy."
"Good-bye, Twitter," said Stephen, grasping his friend's hand.
"Twitter," repeated the missionary, "I heard your friend call you Samjust now. Excuse my asking--are you related to Samuel Twitter ofTwitter, Slime, and Company, in the city?"
"I'm his eldest son," said Sam.
"Then I have much pleasure in making your acquaintance," returned theother, extending his hand, "for although I have never met your father, Iknow your mother well. She is one of the best and most regular teachersin our Sunday-schools. Is she not, Hetty?" he said, turning to asweet-faced girl who stood near him.
"Indeed she is, I was her pupil for some years, and now I teach one ofher old classes," replied the girl.
"I work in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel, sir," continued themissionary, "and most of the children here attend the Institution inGeorge Yard."
"Well, I shall tell my mother of this unexpected meeting," said Sam, ashe remounted his bicycle. "Good-bye, Stephen. Don't romp too much withthe children!"
"Adieu, Sam, and don't break your neck on the bicycle."
In a few minutes Sam Twitter and his bicycle were out of sight.
Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure Page 8