Bert Wilson's Twin Cylinder Racer

by Burt L. Standish

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE WONDERFUL CITY

  "And now for the Exposition," cried Bert, as after a solid sleep and anequally solid breakfast they reached their rooms and looked out over thecity glittering in the morning sun.

  "For your Exposition," corrected Tom. "Yes," he went on, as he notedBert's look of surprise, "that's exactly what I mean. For if it hadn'tbeen for you, when you discovered the plot to blow up the Panama Canal,there would have been no Exposition at all, or, at any rate, a verydifferent one from this. The bands would have been playing the 'DeadMarch in Saul,' instead of 'Hail Columbia' and the 'Star-SpangledBanner.'"

  Nor was Tom far from the truth. Before the minds of the boys came upthat night in Panama, when Bert, crouching low beneath the window of theJapanese conspirators, had overheard the plot to destroy the greatCanal. They saw again the struggle in the library; the fight for life inthe sinking boat in the Caribbean Sea; the rescue by the submarine andthe cutting of the wires that led to the mined gate of the Gatun Locks.Had it not been for Bert's quick wit and audacity, the carefully-plannedplot of the Japanese Government to keep the larger part of the Americanfleet on the Atlantic side, while they themselves made a dash for thePacific slope, might easily have succeeded, and, at the very moment theboys were speaking, the whole country west of the Rocky Mountains mighthave been fast in the grip of the Japanese armies. But the discoveryof the plot had been its undoing. The matter had been hushed up forofficial reasons, and only a very few knew how nearly the two nationshad been locked in a life and death struggle for the control of theWestern ocean.

  And now the peril was over. Never again would the United States becaught napping. War indeed might come--it probably would, some time--butAmerica's control of the coast was assured. At Colon on the Atlanticside and Panama at the Pacific end, impregnable forts and artillery badedefiance to all the fleets of East or West. Great navies on either sidewould be kept in easy reach in case of attack, and the combined land andsea forces would be invincible against any combination likely to bebrought against them.

  And it was this great achievement of American enterprise--the opening ofthe Canal--that the Exposition, now in full swing, was intended tocelebrate. Its official designation was the "Panama-Pacific InternationalExposition." And it was fitting that it should be held at San Francisco,the Queen City of the West, because it was of preeminent importance tothe Pacific slope.

  For this silver strip of water, fifty miles long, that stretched betweenthe Atlantic and Pacific, brought the West nine thousand miles nearer toEurope by water than it had been before. The long journey round theHorn, fraught with danger and taking months of time, would henceforthbe unnecessary. It gave an all-water route that saved enormously infreights, and enabled shipments to be made without breaking bulk. Itdiverted a vast amount of traffic that had hitherto gone through theSuez Canal. It gave a tremendous impetus to the American merchant marineand challenged the right of Great Britain longer to "rule the waves."And, by enabling the entire naval strength of the country to beassembled quickly in case of need, it assured the West against the"yellow peril" that loomed up on the other side of the sea.

  But, above and apart from the local interests involved, was thepatriotic rejoicing in which all the nation shared. The American Eaglefelt that it had a right to scream over the great achievement. For greatit certainly was--one of the most marvelous in the history of the world.The dream of four hundred years had become a realized fact. Others hadtried and failed. France with her scientific genius and unlimitedresources had thrown up her hands in despair. Then America had takenit up and carried it through to a glorious conclusion. Four hundredmillions of dollars had been expended on the colossal work. But thiswas not the most important item. What the country was proud of wasthe pluck, the ingenuity, the determination, that in the face of allkinds of dangers--dangers of flood, of pestilence, of earthquakes, ofavalanche--had met them all in a way to win the plaudits of mankind.

  In the case of the boys, this pride was, of course, intensified by thefact that they had visited the country and seen its wonders at firsthand. From Colon to Panama, from the Gatun Dam to the Miraflores Locks,they had gone over every foot of ground and water. Its gates, its cuts,its spillways, its tractions--all of these had grown familiar by actualinspection. Add to this the exulting consciousness that they had beenconcerned in its salvation, when threatened by their country's foes, andit can readily be imagined how eager they were to see all the wonders ofthe Exposition that was to celebrate its completion.

  "It's got to be a pretty big thing to satisfy my expectations," saidDick, as they neared the grounds.

  "Well," remarked Bert, "I've never seen a world's fair, but, from whatI've heard, this goes ahead of all of them. Even the Chicago Fair, theysay, can't hold a candle to it. A fellow was telling me----"

  But just then, as they turned a curve, they came in full view of thegrounds, and stopped short with a gasp of admiration.

  It was a magnificent picture--a splendid gem, with the California landand sky as its setting.

  A glorious city had sprung up as though by the waving of an enchanter'swand. On every side rose towers, spires, minarets and golden domes. Theprosaic, every-day world had vanished, and, in its place had come adream city such as might have been inspired by the pages of the "ArabianNights." It almost seemed as though a caravan laden with silks andspices of the East might be expected at any moment to thread the courtsand colonnades, or a regiment of Janissaries, with folded fez and wavingscimitars, spur their horses along the road. The very names of thebuildings were redolent of romance. There was the "Court of the FourSeasons," the "Court of the Sun and Stars," the "Tower of Jewels" andthe "Hall of Abundance." And the illusion was heightened by the glorioussunshine and balmy air that makes San Francisco the Paradise of theWestern Continent.

  The Exposition grounds, covering a vast extent of space, had been chosenwith marvelous taste and judgment and a keen eye for the picturesque.The finest talent to be found anywhere had been expended on thelocation, the approaches and the grouping of the buildings, so as toform a harmonious combination of grace and fitness and beauty. It was atriumph of architecture and landscape gardening. Nature and art had beenwedded and the result was bewildering and overpowering. It had neverbeen approached by any Exposition in the world's history.

  The site was a level space surrounded on east, west and south by slopinghills. Standing on these heights, one looked down as upon a vastamphitheater. On the north it faced the waters of San Francisco Bay, thewaves gleaming in the sun and the sea lions playing about the rocks ofthe Golden Gate. Across the Bay could be seen towering mountains, theirsummits alternately shrouded in a tenuous haze and glistening in goldenglory.

  On the harbor side was an esplanade, eighteen hundred feet long andthree hundred feet wide, adorned with marble statues and gorgeousfoliage and plashing fountains. Opening directly from this was the maingroup of palaces--fitly so called--devoted to the more important objectsof the Fair. These were clustered about the great Court of the Sun andStars. Around the Court stood over one hundred pillars, each surmountedby a colossal figure representing some particular star. Upon a hugecolumn stood a globe, symbol of the Sun, and about the column itself wasa spiral ascent, typifying the climbing hopes and aspirations of thehuman race. Nearby rose the splendid Tower of Jewels, four hundred andfifty feet in height, its blazing dome reflecting back the rays ofthe sun, while jewels set in the walls--agate, beryl, garnet andchrysolite--bathed the interior in luminous splendor.

  The Court of the Four Seasons was designed to show the conquest of manover the forces of nature. The Hall of Abundance overflowed with therich products brought from the four corners of the earth. The East andWest were typified by two groups, one showing the customs of the Orientand the other exhibiting the progress made by Western civilization.Between them stood a prairie schooner, emblem of the resistless tide ofimmigration toward the setting sun.

  "Westward the course of empire takes its way, The fir
st four acts already past; A fifth shall close the drama and the day, Time's noblest offspring is its last,"

  murmured Dick, yielding to his chronic habit of quotation.

  Besides the central group of palaces devoted to machinery, invention,transportation and the fine arts, there were two other sections. One heldthe buildings of the various States and the official headquarters offoreign nations. The other was given over to the amusement concessions,consisting of hundreds of pavilions that catered to the pleasures of thevisitors. Then, too, there was a great arena for open air sports andcompetitions. Scattered everywhere were sunken lakes and ripplingcascades and verdant terraces, so arranged that at every turn the eye wascharmed by some new delight.

  But the transcendent beauty of the Fair when viewed by day yielded thepalm to the glory of the night. As the dusk fell, thousands uponthousands of lights, like so many twinkling jewels, sprang into being.The splendor flashed on tree and building, spire and minaret, arch anddome, until the whole vast Exposition became a crystal dream. Greatsearchlights from the bay played on jets of steam rising high in thesky, in a perfect riot of changing color. The lagoons and fountains andcascades sent back the shimmering reflections multiplied a thousandfold. And beneath the witchery of those changing lights, one might wellimagine himself transported to some realm of mystery and romance athousand leagues from the Western Hemisphere and the twentieth century.

  But, although the boys felt and yielded to the potent spell that theExposition cast on those that came within its gates, they none the lessdevoted themselves to the wonders shown in the great buildings set apartfor machinery and inventions. All of them were planning their life workon scientific and engineering lines, and they were keen for the newdiscoveries and appliances that were seen on every hand in almostendless profusion. Wireless telegraphy, aeroplanes, submarine and motorengines--these were the magnets that drew them irresistibly. Althoughthey had prided themselves on keeping pretty well up to date along theselines, they were astonished to see how many things came to them now withthe force of a revelation.

  Before the models of the submarines they stood for a long time, as theytook in every detail of the plan and construction. And with Bert'sadmiration was mingled a sense of gratitude. One of these it was thathad picked him up when he was battling with the waves and hope hadalmost vanished. Even now, he could see the saucy little vessel as itpoked its nose into the entrance of the Canal and darted here and therelike a ferret, sniffing the danger that it came just in time to prevent.He remembered the fascination of that memorable trip, as he stood at theporthole and saw the wonders of the sea, illumined by its powerfulsearchlight. But that had simply whetted his appetite, and he was hungryfor further experiences. Somewhere among his ancestors there must havebeen Viking blood, and the haunting mystery of the sea had always calledto him.

  "Some day, perhaps"--he thought to himself, and then as he saw theamused expression on his companions' faces, he realized that he hadspoken out loud.

  "What's the matter, Alexander?" chaffed Tom. "Weeping for more worlds toconquer?"

  "He isn't satisfied with the victories won on the earth," mocked Dick."He wants the sea, too. You're a glutton for adventure, Bert."

  "Yes," laughed Tom, "he won't be happy till he gets it."

  "Oh, cut it out," retorted Bert, a little sheepishly. "Since when didyou fellows set up to be mind readers?"

  But they _were_ mind readers and prophets, too, though none of them knewit at the time.

  "There's still one other field to be explored," went on Dick, teasingly,"and that's the air."

  "Well," remarked Tom, "if Bert's going to try that, too, he'd betterget busy pretty soon. They're going ahead so fast there, that beforelong there won't be anything new left to do. When fellows can turnsomersaults in the air and fly along on their backs, like thatFrenchman, Peguod, they're certainly getting a strangle hold on oldmother Nature. The way things are moving now, a man will soon be as safein an airship as a baby in his cradle. Look at this Bleriot monoplane;"and they were soon plunged deep in the study of the various types offlying craft.

  In another department, one thing gave Bert unlimited satisfaction.Among all the motorcycles, native and foreign, before which he lingeredlonger than anywhere else, he saw nothing that excelled his own. Hisheart swelled with pride and confidence, as he realized that none of hiscompetitors in the coming struggle would have a better machine beneathhim than the "Blue Streak." He could drop any worry on that score. If hefailed to come in first, he himself must shoulder the blame.

  And when at last, tired but happy, they turned their backs on thedazzling scene and were on their way back to the hotel, their talknaturally fell on the topic that was uppermost in their minds.

  "How are you feeling, Bert?" asked Tom. "Are you fit?"

  "I feel like a two-year-old," was the answer. "I'm hard as nails andright at the top of my form. I'll have no excuses to offer."

  "You won't need any," said Dick confidently. "Leave those to thelosers."

  "One never can tell," mused Bert. "There are some crack riders in thatbunch. But I'm going to do my level best, not only for my own sake, butso that the foreigners can't crow over us. I'd hate to see Americalose."

  "She can't," asserted Tom. "Not on the Fourth of July!"

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A WINNING FIGHT

  The big motordome was gayly decorated with flags and bunting, in honorof the Fourth, and there was just enough breeze stirring to give themmotion. A big military band played patriotic and popular airs, and, asthe spectators filed into their seats in a never-ending procession, theyfelt already the first stirrings of an excitement that was to make ofthis a night to be remembered throughout a lifetime.

  An hour before the time scheduled for the race to begin every seat ingrandstand and bleachers was taken, and people were fighting for a placein the grassy infield. Very soon, even that was packed with as manyspectators as the managers felt could be disposed of with safety. Theywere kept within bounds by a stout rope fence stretched between posts.At last every available foot of space was occupied, and the gates wereclosed. Thousands were turned away even then, although there were oversixty thousand souls within the stadium.

  The motordome had been constructed to hold an immense crowd, but itsdesigners had never anticipated anything like this. So great was theinterest in the event, that most of those who could not gain admittancecamped down near the gates to get bulletins of the progress of the race,as soon as possible.

  It was an ideal night for such an event. The air was soft and chargedwith a thousand balmy odors. The band crashed out its stirring music,and made the blood of the most sluggish leap and glow. Suddenly the arclights suspended at short intervals over the track blazed out, makingthe whole place as light as day.

  Then, as every detail of the track was plainly revealed, thousandsdrew a deep breath and shuddered. The track was banked at an angle ofapproximately thirty-eight degrees, with three laps to the mile. Itseemed impossible to many that anything on wheels could cling to theprecipitous slope, that appeared to offer insecure footing even for afly.

  Near the bottom, a white band was painted around the entirecircumference, marking the actual one-third of a mile. At the bottom ofthe track there was a level stretch, perhaps four feet wide, and beyondthat the smooth turf, bordered at a little distance by a dense mass ofspectators confined within the rope fence. Above the track tier aftertier of seats arose.

  Opposite the finish line, the starter's and judge's pavilion was built.Here all the riders and machines that were to take part were assembled,and it presented a scene of the utmost bustle and activity. Tom and Dickwere there, anxiously waiting for Bert to emerge from his dressing room,and meanwhile inspecting every nut and bolt on the "Blue Streak."Despite the recent changes made in it, the faithful motorcycle was stillthe same staunch, dependable machine it had always been, but with evengreater speed capabilities than it had possessed before.

  Of course, there were many who claimed that
Bert could never have achance of winning without a specially built racer, and he had been urgeda score of times to use such a mount. But he had refused without theslightest hesitation.

  "Why," he always said, "I know what the old 'Blue Streak' will do, justas well as I know what I am capable of. I know every whim and humor ofit, and just how to get the last ounce of power out of it. I've testedit a thousand times. I know it will stand up to any work I put it to,and I'd no more think of changing machines now than I would of trying anew system of training two days before I was to enter a running race.No, thanks, I guess I'll stick to the old 'Blue Streak.'"

  Dick and Tom were still busy with oil can and wrench when Bert emergedfrom his dressing-room. He was dressed in a blue jersey, with anAmerican flag embroidered on breast and back. His head was encased in athick leather helmet, and a pair of heavy-glassed goggles were pushed upon his forehead.

  He strode quickly over to where his chums were working on his mount, andthey shook hands heartily. "Well!" he exclaimed gaily, "how is the old'bus' to-night? Everything O.K., I hope?"

  "It sure is," replied Dick. "Tom and I have gone over every inch of it,and it seems in apple-pie order. We filled your oil tank up with oilthat we tested ourselves, and we know that it's all right. We're nottaking any chances."

  "That's fine," exclaimed Bert, "there's nothing more important than goodoil. We don't want any frozen bearings to-night, of all nights."

  "Not much!" agreed Tom, "but it must be pretty nearly time for thestart. It's after eight now."

  Even as he spoke, a gong tapped, and a deep silence descended on thestadium. Excitement, tense and breathless, gripped every heart.

  A burly figure carrying a megaphone mounted a small platform erectedin the center of the field, and in stentorian tones announced theconditions of the race.

  Seven riders, representing America, France, England, Italy, and Belgium,were to compete for a distance of one hundred miles. The race was tobegin from a flying start, which was to be announced by the report of apistol. The time of each race was to be shown by an illuminated clocknear the judge's stand.

  The man with the megaphone had hardly ceased speaking when the roar ofseveral motorcycle exhausts broke forth from the starting platform andthe band crashed into a stirring march.

  Then a motorcycle appeared, towing a racer. Slowly it gathered headway,and at last the rider of the racing machine threw in the spark. Themotor coughed once or twice, and then took hold. With a mighty roar hismachine shot ahead, gathering speed with every revolution, and passingthe towing motorcycle as though it were standing still.

  In quick succession now, machine after machine appeared. It was Bert'sturn to start, and, pulling his goggles down over his eyes, he leapedastride the waiting "Blue Streak."

  "Go it, old man!" shouted Dick and Tom, each giving him a resoundingbuffet on the shoulder, "show 'em what you're made of."

  "Leave it to me," yelled Bert, for already the towing motorcycle wastowing him and the "Blue Streak" out onto the track. They went at asnail's pace at first, but quickly gathered momentum.

  As he came into view of the gathered multitude, a shout went up thatmade the concrete structure tremble. This was repeated twice and thenthe spectators settled back, waiting for the start.

  When he felt he was going fast enough, Bert, by a twist of the rightgrip, lowered the exhaust valves, and the next second he felt the old"Blue Streak" surge forward as though discharged from a cannon. Itrequired a speed of fifty miles an hour even to mount the embankment,but before he had gone two hundred yards he had attained it. He turnedthe front wheel to the slope, and his machine mounted it like a bird.

  Never had he sensed such gigantic power under him, and he felt exaltedto the skies. He forgot everything in the mad delirium of speed;tremendous, maddening speed. Every time he opened the throttle a triflemore he could feel it increase. Eagerly, resistlessly, his mount toreand raged forward, whistling through the air with the speed of an arrow.In a few seconds he was abreast of the riders who had started first, andwho were jockeying for a good position. There was little time formanoeuvring, however, for now the riders were fairly well bunched, andthe starter's pistol cracked. The race had started!

  And now Bert found himself competing with the crack racers of the world.Each was mounted on the best machine the genius of his countrymen couldproduce, and each was grimly resolved to win. The "Blue Streak" and itsrider were indeed in fast company, and were destined to be put to atest such as seldom occurs in even such strenuous racing as this.

  Bert was riding high on the track at the start, and he resolved to makeuse of this position to gain the lead. He opened the throttle wide, andthe "Blue Streak" responded nobly. So great was the force of the forwardspurt that his hands were almost wrenched from the handlebars. He heldon, however, and at the end of the second lap was even with the leader,a Frenchman.

  Bert turned his front wheel down the slope, and swooped toward thebottom of the track with a sickening lurch. A vast sigh of horror wentup from the closely packed stands. But at the last second, when within afoot of the bottom of the incline, Bert started up again, and with aspeed increased by the downward rush shot up to the white band.

  He hugged this closely, and reeled off mile after mile at a speed ofclose to a hundred miles an hour. Leaning down until his body touchedthe top frame bar, he coaxed ever a little more speed from thefire-spitting mechanism beneath him.

  But the Frenchman hung on doggedly, not ten feet behind, and a few feetfurther back the English entrant tore along. In this order they passedthe fifty-mile mark, and the spectators were standing now, yelling andshouting. The rest of the field had been unable to hold the terrificpace, and had dropped behind. The Belgian entrant had been forced todrop out altogether, on account of engine trouble.

  The leaders swept on and gradually drew up on the three lagging riders.A quarter of a lap--half a lap--three-quarters of a lap--and amid adeafening roar of shouting from the spectators Bert swept past them. Hehad gained a lap on them!

  The English and French entries were still close up, however, bothhanging on within three yards of Bert's rear wheel. They reeled off mileafter mile, hardly changing their positions by a foot. Suddenly therewas a loud report that sounded even above the roar of the exhausts, anda second later Bert fell to the rear. His front tire had punctured, andit was only by the exercise of all his skill and strength that he hadaverted a horrible accident.

  "It's all over. It's all over," groaned Tom. "He's out of the race now.He hasn't got a chance."

  Dick said nothing, but his face was the color of chalk. He dashed forthe supply tent, and emerged carrying a front wheel with an inflatedtire already on it, just as Bert pulled up in front of them and leapedfrom his mount. His eyes were sunken, with dark rings under them, buthis mouth was set and stern as death.

  "On with it, Dick, on with it," he said, in a low, suppressed voice."Let's have that wrench, Tom. Hold up the front fork, will you?"

  He worked frantically, and in less than forty seconds had substitutedthe new wheel carrying the inflated tire in place of the old.

  Flinging down the wrench, he sprang into the saddle, and with willingstrength Dick and Tom rushed him and his machine out onto the track,pushing with all the might of their sinewy young bodies. At the firstpossible moment Bert shot on the power, and the engine, still hot,started instantly. In a second he was off in wild pursuit of the flyingleaders.

  As he mounted the track, he was seen to lean down and fumble with theair shutter on the carburetor. Apparently this had little effect, butto Bert it made all the difference in the world. The motor had hadtremendous strength before, but now it seemed almost doubled. The wholemachine quivered and shook under the mighty impact of the pistons, andthe hum of the flywheels rose to a high whine. Violet flames shot fromthe exhaust in an endless stream.

  The track streamed back from the whirling wheels like a rushing river.It seemed to be leaping eagerly to meet him. The lights and shadowsflickered away from him,
and the grotesque shadow cast by his machineweaved rapidly back and forth as he passed under the sizzling arclights.

  The spectators were a yelling mob of temporary maniacs by this time. TheFrenchman and Englishman had passed the eighty-mile mark, and Bert wasstill a lap and a half behind. He was riding like a fiend, coaxing,nursing his machine, manipulating the controls so as to wring the lastounce of energy from the tortured mass of metal he bestrode.

  Slowly, but with deadly persistence, he closed the gap between him andthe leaders. Amidst a veritable pandemonium from the crazed spectatorshe passed them, but still had one lap to make up in fifteen miles.Shortly after passing them, he was close on the three remainingcompetitors, who were hanging on in the desperate hope of winning shouldsome accident befall the leaders.

  Suddenly, without any warning, something--nobody ever learned what--wentwrong. They became a confused, tangled mass of blazing machine andcrumpled humanity. Bert was not twenty feet behind them, and men turnedwhite and sick and women fainted. It seemed inevitable that he wouldplow into them traveling at that terrific pace, and add one more life tothe toll of the disaster.

  Bert's mind acted like a flash. He was far down on the track, and couldnot possibly gain a position above the wreckage, and so skirt it inthat way. Nor did he have time to pass beneath it, for men and machineswere sliding diagonally down the steep embankment.

  With a muttered prayer, he accepted the last chance fate had seen fit toleave him. He shot off the track completely, and whirled his machineonto the turf skirting it.

  The grass was smooth, but, at Bert's tremendous speed, small obstaclesseemed like mountains. The "Blue Streak" quivered and bounded, at timesleaping clear off the ground, as it struck some uneven place. For whatseemed an age, but was in reality only a few seconds, Bert kept on this,and then steered for the track again. If his machine mounted the littleridge formed by the beginning of the track proper, all might yet bewell, if not--well, he refused to even think of that.

  The front wheel hit the obstruction, and, a fraction of a second later,the rear wheel struck. The machine leaped clear into the air, sideways.Bert stiffened the muscles of his wrists until they were as hard assteel, to withstand the shock of landing. The handlebars were almostwrenched from his control, but not quite, and once more he was tearingaround with scarcely diminished speed.

  By great good fortune, the riders involved in the accident had not beenhurt seriously, although their machines were total wrecks, and theyhobbled painfully toward the hospital tent, assisted by spectators whohad rushed to their aid.

  Bert was now less than half a lap behind the flying leaders, but he hadonly four miles in which to make it up. At intervals now he leaned downand pumped extra oil into the engine. This added a trifle of extrapower, and as he rushed madly along the "Blue Streak" lived up to itsname nobly. At the beginning of the last mile he was only about threelengths behind. The vast crowd was on its feet now, shouting, yelling,tossing hats, gesticulating. They were worked up to a pitch of frenzyabsolutely indescribable.

  As Bert crept grimly up, nearer and nearer, the place became a veritableBedlam. Now the racers had entered the last lap; only a third of a mileto go, and Bert was still a length behind. The exhaust of the racingmotorcycles united in one hoarse, bellowing roar, that seemed to shakethe very earth.

  Then--Bert reached down, and with the finish line but a short hundredyards ahead, opened wide the air shutter on the carburetor. His machineseemed to almost leave the track, and then, tearing forward, passed theFrenchman, who was leading. As he crossed the finish line, Bert wasahead by the length of a wheel!

  The uproar that burst forth then defied all description. As Bert, aftermaking a circuit of the track, finally brought the "Blue Streak" to astandstill, a seething mob rushed toward him, waving hats and flags, andshouting frantically and joyfully.

  Bert had no mind to get in their well-meaning clutches, however, so heand his two friends made a rush for his dressing room, and reached itsafely. The crowd, being unable to locate its hero, and too excited tomake a methodical search for him, worked off its exuberance by muchshouting and shaking of hands between perfect strangers, and graduallydispersed.

  Meanwhile Tom and Dick, with strong emotion that they made no effort toconceal, wrung his hand again and again.

  "You rode the greatest motorcycle race this old world ever saw, oldfriend," said Dick at last, "but Tom and I are never going to let you goin another. The world would be too empty for us without you."

  * * * * *

  In the sheaf of telegrams of congratulations handed to Bert next morningwas one from Reddy. It was characteristic:

  "Shamrock. Glory be. I knew you'd put it over. Keep in good shape forfootball."

  "He talks as if I were already on the team," commented Bert; "I may notmake it, after all."

  "Swell chance of your missing it," scoffed Tom.

  "Everybody knows you're slated for full-back."

  To another message, Drake's name was signed:

  "Hurrah for the blue. Be back for football in the Fall."

  "A decided football flavor in your telegrams to-day," grinned Dick.

  "Well," said Bert, "win or lose, I'll be there with both feet."

  "You'd better have both of them with you, for a fact," drawled Tom. "Youcouldn't do much without them."

  And when a few months later, the football season opened, Bert's promisewas fulfilled. How swift those feet of his proved to be in getting downthe field, how mighty in kicking a goal, how powerful in every stirringfeature of the glorious game, will be told in

  "BERT WILSON ON THE GRIDIRON."

  * * * * *

  Transcriber's note:

  --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).

  --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were corrected without comment.

  --Variations of Blue Streak were made consistent ('Blue Streak' within quoted speech and "Blue Streak" in all other cases).

  --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

  --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.