Miss Cayley's Adventures

by Grant Allen

  III

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE INQUISITIVE AMERICAN

  In one week I had multiplied my capital two hundred and forty-fold! Ileft London with twopence in the world; I quitted Schlangenbad with twopounds in pocket.

  'There's a splendid turn-over!' I thought to myself. 'If this luckholds, at the same rate, I shall have made four hundred and eightypounds by Tuesday next, and I may look forward to being a Barney Barnatoby Christmas.' For I had taken high mathematical honours at Cambridge,and if there is anything on earth on which I pride myself, it is my firmgrasp of the principle of ratios.

  Still, in spite of this brilliant financial prospect, a buddingKlondike, I went away from the little Spa on the flanks of the Taunuswith a heavy heart. I had grown quite to like dear, virulent, fidgetyold Lady Georgina; and I felt that it had cost me a distinct wrench topart with Harold Tillington. The wrench left a scar which was long inhealing; but as I am not a professional sentimentalist, I will nottrouble you here with details of the symptoms.

  My livelihood, however, was now assured me. With two pounds in pocket, asensible girl can read her title clear to six days' board and lodging,at six marks a day, with a glorious margin of four marks over forpocket-money. And if at the end of six days my fairy godmother had notpointed me out some other means of earning my bread honestly--well, Ishould feel myself unworthy to be ranked in the noble army ofadventuresses. I thank thee, Lady Georgina, for teaching me that word.An adventuress I would be; for I loved adventure.

  Meanwhile, it occurred to me that I might fill up the interval by goingto study art at Frankfort. Elsie Petheridge had been there, and hadimpressed upon me the fact that I must on no account omit to see theStaedel Gallery. She was strong on culture. Besides, the study of artshould be most useful to an adventuress; for she must need all the artsthat human skill has developed.

  So to Frankfort I betook myself, and found there a nice little_pension_--'for ladies only,' Frau Bockenheifner assured me--at verymoderate rates, in a pleasant part of the Lindenstrasse. It had dimitycurtains. I will not deny that as I entered the house I was conscious offeeling lonely; my heart sank once or twice as I glanced round theluncheon-table at the domestically-unsympathetic German old maids whoformed the rank-and-file of my fellow-boarders. There they sat--eightcomfortable Fraus who had missed their vocation; plentiful ladies,bulging and surging in tightly stretched black silk bodices. They hadbeen cut out for such housewives as Harold Tillington had described, butfound themselves deprived of their natural sphere in life by theunaccountable caprice of the men of their nation. Each was a modelTeutonic matron _manquee_. Each looked capable of frying Frankfortsausages to a turn, and knitting woollen socks to a remote eternity. ButI sought in vain for one kindred soul among them. How horrified theywould have been, with their fat pudding-faces and big saucer-eyes, had Iboldly announced myself as an English adventuress!

  I spent my first morning in laborious self-education at the Ariadneumand the Staedel Gallery. I borrowed a catalogue. I wrestled with Van derWeyden; I toiled like a galley-slave at Meister Wilhelm and MeisterStephan. I have a confused recollection that I saw a number of stiffmediaeval pictures, and an alabaster statue of the lady who smiled as sherode on a tiger, taken at the beginning of that interesting episode. Butthe remainder of the Institute has faded from my memory.

  In the afternoon I consoled myself for my herculean efforts in thedirection of culture by going out for a bicycle ride on a hired machine,to which end I decided to devote my pocket-money. You will, perhaps,object here that my conduct was imprudent. To raise that objection is tomisunderstand the spirit of these artless adventures. I told you that Iset out to go round the world; but to go round the world does notnecessarily mean to circumnavigate it. My idea was to go round by easystages, seeing the world as I went as far as I got, and taking as littleheed as possible of the morrow. Most of my readers, no doubt, acceptthat philosophy of life on Sundays only; on week-days they swallow theusual contradictory economic platitudes about prudential forethought andthe horrid improvidence of the lower classes. For myself, I am not builtthat way. I prefer to take life in a spirit of pure inquiry. I put on myhat: I saunter where I choose, so far as circumstances permit; and Iwait to see what chance will bring me. My ideal is breeziness.

  The hired bicycle was not a bad machine, as hired bicycles go; it joltedone as little as you can expect from a common hack; it never stopped ata Bier-Garten; and it showed very few signs of having been ridden bybeginners with an unconquerable desire to tilt at the hedgerow. So offI soared at once, heedless of the jeers of Teutonic youth who found thesight of a lady riding a cycle in skirts a strange one--for in SouthGermany the 'rational' costume is so universal among women cyclists that'tis the skirt that provokes unfavourable comment from those jealousguardians of female propriety, the street boys. I hurried on at a briskpace past the Palm-Garden and the suburbs, with my loose hair strayingon the breeze behind, till I found myself pedalling at a good round paceon a broad, level road, which led towards a village, by name Fraunheim.

  As I scurried across the plain, with the wind in my face, notunpleasantly, I had some dim consciousness of somebody unknown flyingafter me headlong. My first idea was that Harold Tillington had huntedme down and tracked me to my lair; but gazing back, I saw my pursuer wasa tall and ungainly man, with a straw-coloured moustache, apparentlyAmerican, and that he was following me on his machine, closely watchingmy action. He had such a cunning expression on his face, and seemed sostrangely inquisitive, with eyes riveted on my treadles, that I didn'tquite like the look of him. I put on the pace, to see if I couldoutstrip him, for I am a swift cyclist. But his long legs were too muchfor me. He did not gain on me, it is true; but neither did I outpacehim. Pedalling my very hardest--and I can make good time whennecessary--I still kept pretty much at the same distance in front of himall the way to Fraunheim.

  HE KEPT CLOSE AT MY HEELS.]

  Gradually I began to feel sure that the weedy-looking man with the alertface was really pursuing me. When I went faster, he went faster too;when I gave him a chance to pass me, he kept close at my heels, andappeared to be keenly watching the style of my ankle-action. I gatheredthat he was a connoisseur; but why on earth he should persecute me Icould not imagine. My spirit was roused now-- I pedalled with a will; ifI rode all day I would not let him go past me.

  Beyond the cobble-paved chief street of Fraunheim the road took a sharpbend, and began to mount the slopes of the Taunus suddenly. It was anabrupt, steep climb; but I flatter myself I am a tolerable mountaincyclist. I rode sturdily on; my pursuer darted after me. But on thisstiff upward grade my light weight and agile ankle-action told; I beganto distance him. He seemed afraid that I would give him the slip, andcalled out suddenly, with a whoop, in English, 'Stop, miss!' I lookedback with dignity, but answered nothing. He put on the pace, panting; Ipedalled away, and got clear from him.

  I WAS PULLED UP SHORT BY A MOUNTED POLICEMAN.]

  At a turn of the corner, however, as luck would have it, I was pulled upshort by a mounted policeman. He blocked the road with his horse, likean ogre, and asked me, in a very gruff Swabian voice, if this was alicensed bicycle. I had no idea, till he spoke, that any license wasrequired; though to be sure I might have guessed it; for modern Germanyis studded with notices at all the street corners, to inform you inminute detail that everything is forbidden. I stammered out that I didnot know. The mounted policeman drew near and inspected me rudely. 'Itis strongly undersaid,' he began, but just at that moment my pursuercame up, and, with American quickness, took in the situation. Heaccosted the policeman in choice bad German. 'I have two licenses,' hesaid, producing a handful. 'The Fraeulein rides with me.'

  I was too much taken aback at so providential an interposition tocontradict this highly imaginative statement. My highwayman had turnedinto a protecting knight-errant of injured innocence. I let thepoliceman go his way; then I glanced at my preserver. A very ordinarymodern St. George he looked, with no lance to speak of, and no steed buta bicy
cle. Yet his mien was reassuring.

  'Good morning, miss,' he began--he called me 'Miss' every time headdressed me, as though he took me for a barmaid. 'Ex-cuse _me_, but whydid you want to speed her?'

  'I thought you were pursuing me,' I answered, a little tremulous, I willconfess, but avid of incident.

  'And if I was,' he went on, 'you might have con-jectured, miss, it wasfor our mutual advantage. A business man don't go out of his way unlesshe expects to turn an honest dollar; and he don't reckon on other folksgoing out of theirs, unless he knows he can put them in the way ofturning an honest dollar with him.'

  'That's reasonable,' I answered: for I am a political economist. 'Thebenefit should be mutual.' But I wondered if he was going to propose atsight to me.

  He looked me all up and down. 'You're a lady of con-siderable personalattractions,' he said, musingly, as if he were criticising a horse; 'andI want one that sort. That's jest why I trailed you, see? Besides which,there's some style about you.'

  'Style!' I repeated.

  'Yes,' he went on; 'you know how to use your feet; and you have goodunderstandings.'

  I gathered from his glance that he referred to my nether limbs. We areall vertebrate animals; why seek to conceal the fact?

  'I fail to follow you,' I answered frigidly; for I really didn't knowwhat the man might say next.

  SEEMS I DIDN'T MAKE MUCH OF A JOB OF IT.]

  'That's so!' he replied. 'It was _I_ that followed _you_; seems I didn'tmake much of a job of it, either, anyway.'

  I mounted my machine again. 'Well, good morning,' I said, coldy. 'I ammuch obliged for your kind assistance; but your remark was fictitious,and I desire to go on unaccompanied.'

  He held up his hand in warning. 'You ain't going!' he cried, horrified.'You ain't going without hearing me! I mean business, say! Don't chuckaway good money like that. I tell you, there's dollars in it.'

  'In what?' I asked, still moving on, but curious. On the slope, if needwere, I could easily distance him.

  'Why, in this cycling of yours,' he replied. 'You're jest about the verywoman I'm looking for, miss. Lithe--that's what I call you. I kin putyou in the way of making your pile, I kin. This is a _bona-fide_ offer.No flies on _my_ business! You decline it? Prejudice! Injures you;injures me! Be reasonable anyway!'

  I looked round and laughed. 'Formulate yourself,' I said, briefly.

  He rose to it like a man. 'Meet me at Fraunheim; corner by the PostOffice; ten o'clock to-morrow morning,' he shouted, as I rode off, 'andef I don't convince you there's money in this job, my name's not CyrusW. Hitchcock.'

  Something about his keen, unlovely face impressed me with a sense of hisunderlying honesty. 'Very well,' I answered,'I'll come, if you follow meno further.' I reflected that Fraunheim was a populous village, and thatonly beyond it did the mountain road over the Taunus begin to growlonely. If he wished to cut my throat, I was well within reach of theresources of civilisation.

  When I got home to the Abode of Blighted Fraus that evening, I debatedseriously with myself whether or not I should accept Mr. Cyrus W.Hitchcock's mysterious invitation. Prudence said _no_; curiosity said_yes_; I put the question to a meeting of one; and, since I am adaughter of Eve, curiosity had it. Carried unanimously. I think I mighthave hesitated, indeed, had it not been for the Blighted Fraus. Theirtalk was of dinner and of the digestive process; they were critics ofdigestion. They each of them sat so complacently through theevening--solid and stolid, stodgy and podgy, stuffed comatose images,knitting white woollen shawls, to throw over their capacious shouldersat _table d'hote_--and they purred with such content in theirmiddle-aged rotundity that I made up my mind I must take warningbetimes, and avoid their temptations to adipose deposit. I prefer togrow upwards; the Frau grows sideways. Better get my throat cut by anAmerican desperado, in my pursuit of romance, than settle down on a rocklike a placid fat oyster. I am not by nature sessile.

  Adventures are to the adventurous. They abound on every side; but onlythe chosen few have the courage to embrace them. And they will not cometo you: you must go out to seek them. Then they meet you half-way, andrush into your arms, for they know their true lovers. There were eightBlighted Fraus at the Home for Lost Ideals, and I could tell by simpleinspection that they had not had an average of half an adventure perlifetime between them. They sat and knitted still, like Awful Examples.

  If I had declined to meet Mr. Hitchcock at Fraunheim, I know not whatchanges it might have induced in my life. I might now be knitting. But Iwent boldly forth, on a voyage of exploration, prepared to accept aughtthat fate held in store for me.

  As Mr. Hitchcock had assured me there was money in his offer, I feltjustified in speculating. I expended another three marks on the hire ofa bicycle, though I ran the risk thereby of going perhaps withoutMonday's dinner. That showed my vocation. The Blighted Fraus, I feltsure, would have clung to their dinner at all hazards.

  When I arrived at Fraunheim, I found my alert American punctually therebefore me. He raised his crush hat with awkward politeness. I could seehe was little accustomed to ladies' society. Then he pointed to a closecab in which he had reached the village.

  'I've got it inside,' he whispered, in a confidential tone. 'I couldn'tlet 'em ketch sight of it. You see, there's dollars in it.'

  'What have you got inside?' I asked, suspiciously, drawing back. I don'tknow why, but the word 'it' somehow suggested a corpse. I began to growfrightened.

  'Why, the wheel, of course,' he answered. 'Ain't you come here to rideit?'

  'Oh, the wheel?' I echoed, vaguely, pretending to look wise; butunaware, as yet, that that word was the accepted Americanism for acycle. 'And I have come to ride it?'

  'Why, certainly,' he replied, jerking his hand towards the cab. 'But wemustn't start right here. This thing has got to be kept dark, don't yousee, till the last day.'

  Till the last day! That was ominous. It sounded like monomania. Soghostly and elusive! I began to suspect my American ally of being adangerous madman.

  'Jest you wheel away a bit up the hill,' he went on, 'out o' sight ofthe folks, and I'll fetch her along to you.'

  'Her?' I cried. 'Who?' For the man bewildered me.

  'Why, the wheel, miss! _You_ understand! This is business, you bet! Andyou're jest the right woman!'

  He motioned me on. Urged by a sort of spell, I remounted my machine androde out of the village. He followed, on the box-seat of his cab. Then,when we had left the world well behind, and stood among the sun-smittenboles of the pine-trees, he opened the door mysteriously, and producedfrom the vehicle a very odd-looking bicycle.

  It was clumsy to look at. It differed immensely, in many particulars,from any machine I had yet seen or ridden.

  The strenuous American fondled it for a moment with his hand, as if itwere a pet child. Then he mounted nimbly. Pride shone in his eye. I sawin a second he was a fond inventor.

  He rode a few yards on. Next he turned to me eagerly. 'This ma-chine,'he said, in an impressive voice, '_is_ pro-pelled _by_ an eccentric.'Like all his countrymen, he laid most stress on unaccented syllables.

  'Oh, I knew you were an eccentric,' I said, 'the moment I set eyes uponyou.'

  He surveyed me gravely. 'You misunderstand me, miss,' he corrected.'_When_ I say an eccentric, I mean, a crank.'

  'They are much the same thing,' I answered, briskly. 'Though I confess Iwould hardly have applied so rude a word as _crank_ to you.'

  He looked me over suspiciously, as if I were trying to make game of him,but my face was sphinx-like. So he brought the machine a yard or twonearer, and explained its construction to me. He was quite right: it_was_ driven by a crank. It had no chain, but was moved by a pedal,working narrowly up and down, and attached to a rigid bar, whichimpelled the wheels by means of an eccentric.

  Besides this, it had a curious device for altering the gearingautomatically while one rode, so as to enable one to adapt it to thevarying slope in mounting hills. This part of the mechanism he explainedto me elaborately. There
was a gauge in front which allowed one to sightthe steepness of the slope by mere inspection; and according as thegauge marked one, two, three, or four, as its gradient on the scale,the rider pressed a button on the handle-bar with his left hand once,twice, thrice, or four times, so that the gearing adapted itself withoutan effort to the rise in the surface. Besides, there were devices forrigidity and compensation. Altogether, it was a most apt and ingeniouspiece of mechanism. I did not wonder he was proud of it.

  'Get up and ride, miss,' he said in a persuasive voice.

  I did as I was bid. To my immense surprise, I ran up the steep hill assmoothly and easily as if it were a perfectly-laid level.

  'Goes nicely, doesn't she?' Mr. Hitchcock murmured, rubbing his hands.

  'Beautifully,' I answered. 'One could ride such a machine up Mont Blanc,I should fancy.'

  He stroked his chin with nervous fingers. 'It ought to knock 'em,' hesaid, in an eager voice. 'It's geared to run up most anything increation.'

  'How steep?'

  'One foot in three.'

  'That's good.'

  'Yes. It'll climb Mount Washington.'

  'What do you call it?' I asked.

  He looked me over with close scrutiny.

  'In Amurrica,' he said, slowly, 'we call it the Great Manitou, becauseit kin do pretty well what it chooses; but in Europe, I am thinking ofcalling it the Martin Conway or the Whymper, or something like that.'

  'Why so?'

  'Well, because it's a famous mountain climber.'

  'I see,' I said. 'With such a machine you'll put a notice on theMatterhorn, "This hill is dangerous to cyclists."'

  He laughed low to himself, and rubbed his hands again. 'You'll do,miss,' he said. 'You're the right sort, you are. The moment I seen you,I thought we two could do a trade together. Benefits me; benefits you. Amutual advantage. Reciprocity is the soul of business. You hev some goin you, you hev. There's money in your feet. You'll give these Meinherrsfits. You'll take the clear-starch out of them.'

  'I fail to catch on,' I answered, speaking his own dialect to humourhim.

  'Oh, you'll get there all the same,' he replied, stroking his machinemeanwhile. 'It was a squirrel, it was!' (He pronounced it _squirl_.) 'It'ud run up a tree ef it wanted, wouldn't it?' He was talking to it nowas if it were a dog or a baby. 'There, there, it mustn't kick; it was afrisky little thing! Jest you step up on it, miss, and have a go at thatthere mountain.'

  I stepped up and had a 'go.' The machine bounded forward like an agilegreyhound. You had but to touch it, and it ran of itself. Never had Iridden so vivacious, so animated a cycle. I returned to him, sailing,with the gradient reversed. The Manitou glided smoothly, as on a gentleslope, without the need for back-pedalling.

  'It soars!' he remarked with enthusiasm.

  'Balloons are at discount beside it,' I answered.

  'Now you want to know about this business, I guess,' he went on. 'Youwant to know jest where the reciprocity comes in, anyhow?'

  'I am ready to hear you expound,' I admitted, smiling.

  'Oh, it ain't all on one side,' he continued, eyeing his machine at anangle with parental affection. 'I'm a-going to make your fortune righthere. You shall ride her for me on the last day; and ef you pull thisthing off, don't you be scared that I won't treat you handsome.'

  'If you were a little more succinct,' I said, gravely, 'we should getforrader faster.'

  'Perhaps you wonder,' he put in, 'that with money on it like this, Ishould intrust the job _into_ the hands of a female.' I winced, but wassilent. 'Well, it's like this, don't you see; ef a female wins, it makessuccess all the more striking and con-spicuous. The world to-day _is_ruled _by_ adver_tize_ment.'

  I could stand it no longer. 'Mr. Hitchcock,' I said, with dignity, 'Ihaven't the remotest idea what on earth you are talking about.'

  He gazed at me with surprise. 'What?' he exclaimed, at last. 'And youkin cycle like that! Not know what all the cycling world is mad about!Why, you don't mean to tell me you're not a pro-fessional?'

  I enlightened him at once as to my position in society, which wasrespectable, if not lucrative. His face fell somewhat. 'High-toned, eh?Still, you'd run all the same, wouldn't you?' he inquired.

  'Run for what?' I asked, innocently. 'Parliament? The Presidency? TheFrankfort Town Council?'

  He had difficulty in fathoming the depths of my ignorance. But bydegrees I understood him. It seemed that the German Imperial andPrussian Royal Governments had offered a Kaiserly and Kingly prize forthe best military bicycle; the course to be run over the Taunus, fromFrankfort to Limburg; the winning machine to get the equivalent of athousand pounds; each firm to supply its own make and rider. The 'lastday' was Saturday next; and the Great Manitou was the dark horse of thecontest.

  Then all was clear as day to me. Mr. Cyrus W. Hitchcock was keeping hismachine a profound secret; he wanted a woman to ride it, so that histriumph might be the more complete; and the moment he saw me pedal upthe hill, in trying to avoid him, he recognised at once that I was thatwoman.

  I recognised it too. 'Twas a pre-ordained harmony. After two or threetrials I felt that the Manitou was built for me, and I was built for theManitou. We ran together like parts of one mechanism. I was always famedfor my circular ankle-action; and in this new machine, ankle-action waseverything. Strength of limb counted for naught; what told was the powerof 'clawing up again' promptly. I possess that power: I have prehistoricfeet: my remote progenitors must certainly have been tree-hauntingmonkeys.

  We arranged terms then and there.

  'You accept?'

  'Implicitly.'

  If I pulled off the race, I was to have fifty pounds. If I didn't, I wasto have five. 'It ain't only your skill, you see,' Mr. Hitchcock said,with frank commercialism. 'It's your personal attractiveness as wellthat I go upon. That's an element to consider in business relations.'

  'My face is my fortune,' I answered, gravely. He nodded acquiescence.

  Till Saturday, then, I was free. Meanwhile, I trained, and practisedquietly with the Manitou, in sequestered parts of the hills. I also tookspells, turn about, at the Staedel Institute. I like to intersperseculture and athletics. I know something about athletics, and hope intime to acquire a taste for culture. 'Tis expected of a Girton girl,though my own accomplishments run rather towards rowing, punting,bicycling.

  On Saturday, I confess, I rose with great misgivings. I was not aprofessional; and to find oneself practically backed for a thousandpounds in a race against men is a trifle disquieting. Still, havingonce put my hand to the plough, I felt I was bound to pull it throughsomehow. I dressed my hair neatly, in a very tight coil. I ate a lightbreakfast, eschewing the fried sausages which the Blighted Fraus pressedupon my notice, and satisfying myself with a gently-boiled egg and sometoast and coffee. I always found I rowed best at Cambridge on thelightest diet; in my opinion, the raw beef _regime_ is a serious errorin training.

  At a minute or two before eleven I turned up at the Schiller Platz in myshort serge dress and cycling jacket. The great square was thronged withspectators to see us start; the police made a lane through their midstfor the riders. My backer had advised me to come to the post as late aspossible, 'For I have entered your name,' he said, 'simply as LoisCayley. These Deutschers don't think but what you're a man and abrother. But I am apprehensive of con-tingencies. When you put in a showthey'll try to raise objections to you on account of your being afemale. There won't be much time, though, and I shall rush theobjections. Once they let you run and win, it don't matter to me whetherI get the twenty thousand marks or not. It's the adver_tize_ment thattells. Jest you mark my words, miss, and don't you make no mistake aboutit--the world to-day is governed by adver_tize_ment.'

  So I turned up at the last moment, and cast a timid glance at mycompetitors. They were all men, of course, and two of them were Germanofficers in a sort of undress cycling uniform. They eyed mesuperciliously. One of them went up and spoke to the HerrOver-Superintendent who had charge of the contest. I unde
rstood him tobe lodging an objection against a mere woman taking part in the race.The Herr Over-Superintendent, a bulky official, came up beside me andperpended visibly. He bent his big brows to it. 'Twas appalling toobserve the measurable amount of Teutonic cerebration going on undercover of his round, green glasses. He was perpending for some minutes.Time was almost up. Then he turned to Mr. Hitchcock, having finally madeup his colossal mind, and murmured rudely, 'The woman cannot compete.'

  'Why not?' I inquired, in my very sweetest German, with an angelicsmile, though my heart trembled.

  'Warum nicht? Because the word "rider" in the Kaiserly and Kinglyfor-this-contest-provided decree is distinctly in the masculine genderstated.'

  'Pardon me, Herr Over-Superintendent,' I replied, pulling out a copy ofLaw 97 on the subject, with which I had duly provided myself, 'if youwill to Section 45 of the Bicycles-Circulation-Regulation-Act yourattention turn, you will find it therein expressly enacted that unlessany clause be anywhere to the contrary inserted, the word "rider," inthe masculine gender put, shall here the word "rideress" in the feminineto embrace be considered.'

  For, anticipating this objection, I had taken the precaution to look thelegal question up beforehand.

  'That is true,' the Herr Over-Superintendent observed, in a musingvoice, gazing down at me with relenting eyes. 'The masculine habituallyembraces the feminine.' And he brought his massive intellect to bearupon the problem once more with prodigious concentration.

  I seized my opportunity. 'Let me start, at least,' I urged, holding outthe Act. 'If I win, you can the matter more fully with the Kaiserly andKingly Governments hereafter argue out.'

  'I guess this will be an international affair,' Mr. Hitchcock remarked,well pleased. 'It would be a first-rate adver_tize_ment for the GreatManitou ef England and Germany were to make the question into a _casusbelli_. The United States could look on, and pocket the chestnuts.'

  'Two minutes to go,' the official starter with the watch called out.

  'Fall in, then, Fraeulein Englaenderin,' the Herr Over-Superintendentobserved, without prejudice, waving me into line. He pinned a badge witha large number, 7, on my dress. 'The Kaiserly and Kingly Governmentsshall on the affair of the starting's legality hereafter on my reportmore at leisure pass judgment.'

  The lieutenant in undress uniform drew back a little.

  'Oh, if this is to be woman's play,' he muttered, 'then can a Prussianofficer himself by competing not into contempt bring.'

  I dropped a little curtsy. 'If the Herr Lieutenant is afraid even to_enter_ against an Englishwoman----' I said, smiling.

  He came up to the scratch sullenly. 'One minute to go!' called out thestarter.

  We were all on the alert. There was a pause; a deep breath. I washorribly frightened, but I tried to look calm. Then sharp and quick camethe one word 'Go!' And like arrows from a bow, off we all started.

  I had ridden over the whole course the day but one before, on a mountainpony, with an observant eye and my sedulous American--rising at fiveo'clock, so as not to excite undue attention; and I therefore knewbeforehand the exact route we were to follow; but I confess when I sawthe Prussian lieutenant and one of my other competitors dash forward ata pace that simply astonished me, that fifty pounds seemed to melt awayin the dim abyss of the Ewigkeit. I gave up all for lost. I could nevermake the running against such practised cyclists.

  DON'T SCORCH, MISS; DON'T SCORCH.]

  However, we all turned out into the open road which leads across theplain and down the Main valley, in the direction of Mayence. For thefirst ten miles or so, it is a dusty level. The surface is perfect; but'twas a blinding white thread. As I toiled along it, that broiling Juneday, I could hear the voice of my backer, who followed on horseback,exhorting me in loud tones, 'Don't scorch, miss; don't scorch; nevermind ef you lose sight of 'em. Keep your wind; that's the point. Thewind, the wind's everything. Let 'em beat you on the level; you'll catch'em up fast enough when you get on the Taunus!'

  But in spite of his encouragement, I almost lost heart as I saw oneafter another of my opponents' backs disappear in the distance, till atlast I was left toiling along the bare white road alone, in ashower-bath of sunlight, with just a dense cloud of dust rising gray farahead of me. My head swam. It repented me of my boldness.

  Then the riders on horseback began to grumble; for by police regulationthey were not allowed to pass the hindmost of the cyclists; and theywere kept back by my presence from following up their special champions.'Give it up, Fraeulein, give it up!' they cried. 'You're beaten. Let uspass and get forward.' But at the self-same moment, I heard the shrillvoice of my American friend whooping aloud across the din, 'Don't you donothing of the sort, miss! You stick to it, and keep your wind! It's thewind that wins! Them Germans won't be worth a cent on the high slopes,anyway!'

  Encouraged by his voice, I worked steadily on, neither scorching norrelaxing, but maintaining an even pace at my natural pitch under thebroiling sunshine. Heat rose in waves on my face from the road below; inthe thin white dust, the accusing tracks of six wheels confronted me.Still I kept on following them, till I reached the town of Hoechst--ninemiles from Frankfort. Soldiers along the route were timing us atintervals with chronometers, and noting our numbers. As I rattled overthe paved High Street, I called aloud to one of them. 'How far ahead thelast man?'

  He shouted back, good-humouredly: 'Four minutes, Fraeulein.'

  Again I lost heart. Then I mounted a slight slope, and felt how easilythe Manitou moved up the gradient. From its summit I could note a longgray cloud of dust rolling steadily onward down the hill towardsHattersheim.

  I coasted down, with my feet up, and a slight breeze just cooling me.Mr. Hitchcock, behind, called out, full-throated, from his seat, 'Nohurry! No flurry! Take your time! Take--your--time, miss!'

  Over the bridge at Hattersheim you turn to the right abruptly, and beginto mount by the side of a pretty little stream, the Schwarzbach, whichruns brawling over rocks down the Taunus from Eppstein. By this time theexcitement had somewhat cooled down for the moment; I was gettingreconciled to be beaten on the level, and began to realise that mychances would be best as we approached the steepest bits of the mountainroad about Niederhausen. So I positively plucked up heart to look aboutme and enjoy the scenery. With hair flying behind--that coil had playedme false--I swept through Hofheim, a pleasant little village at themouth of a grassy valley inclosed by wooded slopes, the Schwarzbachmaking cool music in the glen below as I mounted beside it. Clamberinglarches, like huge candelabra, stood out on the ridge, silhouettedagainst the skyline.

  'How far ahead the last man?' I cried to the recording soldier. Heanswered me back, 'Two minutes, Fraeulein.'

  I was gaining on them; I was gaining! I thundered across theSchwarzbach, by half-a-dozen clamorous little iron bridges, making easytime now, and with my feet working as if they were themselves anintegral part of the machinery. Up, up, up; it looked a vertical ascent;the Manitou glided well in its oil-bath at its half-way gearing. I rodefor dear life. At sixteen miles, Lorsbach; at eighteen, Eppstein; theroad still rising. 'How far ahead the last man?' 'Just round the corner,Fraeulein!'

  I put on a little steam. Sure enough, round the corner I caught sight ofhis back. With a spurt, I passed him--a dust-covered soul, very hot anduncomfortable. He had not kept his wind; I flew past him like awhirlwind. But, oh, how sultry hot in that sweltering, close valley! Apretty little town, Eppstein, with its mediaeval castle perched high on acraggy rock. I owed it some gratitude, I felt, as I left it behind, for'twas here that I came up with the tail-end of my opponents.

  That one victory cheered me. So far, our route had lain along thewell-made but dusty high road in the steaming valley; at Nieder-Josbach,two miles on, we quitted the road abruptly, by the course marked out forus, and turned up a mountain path, only wide enough for two cyclesabreast--a path that clambered towards the higher slopes of the Taunus.That was arranged on purpose--for this was no fair-weather show, but apractical trial for milit
ary bicycles, under the conditions they mightmeet with in actual warfare. It was rugged riding: black walls of pinerose steep on either hand; the ground was uncertain. Our path mountedsharply from the first; the steeper the better. By the time I hadreached Ober-Josbach, nestling high among larch-woods, I had distancedall but two of my opponents. It was cooler now, too. As I passed thehamlet my cry altered.

  HOW FAR AHEAD THE FIRST MAN?]

  'How far ahead the first man?'.

  'Two minutes, Fraeulein,'

  'A civilian?'

  'No, no; a Prussian officer.'

  The Herr Lieutenant led, then. For Old England's sake, I felt I mustbeat him.

  The steepest slope of all lay in the next two miles. If I were going towin I must pass these two there, for my advantage lay all in the climb;if it came to coasting, the men's mere weight scored a point in theirfavour. Bump, crash, jolt! I pedalled away like a machine; the Manitousobbed; my ankles flew round so that I scarcely felt them. But the roadwas rough and scarred with waterways--ruts turned by rain to runnels. Athalf a mile, after a desperate struggle among sand and pebbles, I passedthe second man; just ahead, the Prussian officer looked round and sawme. 'Thunder-weather! you there, Englaenderin?' he cried, darting me alook of unchivalrous dislike, such as only your sentimental German cancast at a woman.

  I AM HERE BEHIND YOU, HERR LIEUTENANT.]

  'Yes, I am here, behind you, Herr Lieutenant,' I answered, putting on aspurt; 'and I hope next to be before you.'

  He answered not a word, but worked his hardest. So did I. He bentforward: I sat erect on my Manitou, pulling hard at my handles. Now, myfront wheel was upon him. It reached his pedal. We were abreast. He hada narrow thread of solid path, and he forced me into a runnel. Still Igained. He swerved: I think he tried to foul me. But the slope was toosteep; his attempt recoiled on himself; he ran against the rock at theside and almost overbalanced. That second lost him. I waved my hand as Isailed ahead. 'Good morning,' I cried, gaily. 'See you again atLimburg!'

  From the top of the slope I put my feet up and flew down into Idstein. Athunder-shower burst: I was glad of the cool of it. It laid the dust. Iregained the high road. From that moment, save for the risk ofsideslips, 'twas easy running--just an undulating line with occasionalups and downs; but I saw no more of my pursuers till, twenty-twokilometres farther on, I rattled on the cobble-paved causeway intoLimburg. I had covered the forty-six miles in quick time for a mountainclimb. As I crossed the bridge over the Lahn, to my immense surprise,Mr. Hitchcock waved his arms, all excitement, to greet me. He had takenthe train on from Eppstein, it seemed, and got there before me. As Idismounted at the Cathedral, which was our appointed end, and gave mybadge to the soldier, he rushed up and shook my hand. 'Fifty pounds!' hecried. 'Fifty pounds! How's that for the great Anglo-Saxon race! Andhooray for the Manitou!'

  The second man, the civilian, rode in, wet and draggled, forty secondslater. As for the Herr Lieutenant, a disappointed man, he fell out bythe way, alleging a puncture. I believe he was ashamed to admit the factthat he had been beaten in open fight by the objurgated Englaenderin.

  So the end of it was, I was now a woman of means, with fifty pounds ofmy own to my credit.

  I lunched with my backer royally at the best inn in Limburg.