MY FIRST AND LAST TANDEM JOURNEY.

Golden Bay Argus, Volume VI, Issue 62, 5 August 1897, Page 2

MY FIRST AND LAST TAND EM JOURNEY.

George Baines was a rather singular young man—dubbed “ a bit of an eccentric ” by his acquaintances. Friends, in the real meaning of the word, he had none, though he ought have possessed “ troops,” had he been so inclined. He was a good-looking chap, fairly well educated. was chief ledger clerk m a shipping firm, and had no one dependent upon him. Being temperate and thrifty be had managed to save something over £2OO, with what object he could not tell, for he had not the slightest notion of taking a wife —for some years, at all events. Ten years previous to the time when my story commences ho had absconded from Driffield, in Yorkshire, where he was an apprentice, sent out by the parish from the local workhouse to a tailor. All he knew of his early history was that he had been deposited at the workhouse gate when aifew months old, a slip of paper pinned to the clothes the child wore stating that Ins name was- George Baines. At the workhouse school he gained ah the education the parish schoolmaster could give him. and when sent to learn tailoring the officials admitted that it was a pity the lad could not be placed in a position in which his talents might have fair piny, bnt there wassno such opening in Driffield.

Fortune favoured him the day following his arrival in Liverpool. A gentleman dropped a. small packet, of letters in taking out his handkerchief and was so much taken with the lad’s appearance and manner that he took him into his office, and there he had been ever since. That he hid been brought up in a workhouse was ever present to his mind and warped his nature, and his evening and holiday pursuits were such as to justify his fellow-clerks styling him eccentric. He was fond of..studying botany, and on Saturday afternoons■ was wont to take ong rambles in the country in search of new specimens to add to his botanical collection. He had just left a country station one Saturday afternoon last summer and-was deliberating whether to turn to the right or left when the voice of a woman screaming “ Help ! Help!” drt w his attention to a lady cyclist coming down the hill from the village at :■ terrific rate. She had evidently lost control of her machine and was terrified. Not for a moment did George Baines hesitate as to the course he should adopt. With his legs wide apart ho stood iu the road, and as she drew near shouted “ .lump ! ’the only damage being to the skirt of her “ rational dress " coat, which was badly torn. But the reaction was too much even for a girl brave enough to cycle in 11 rational ’’'costume, for she promptly fainted. George Baines carried his burden to the nearest house, and stood by anxiously while Hie usual remedies were applied. “ How can 1 thank you, sir ? You saved my life !•' she exclaimed when she recovered. “The brt ak would not act, and I coukl not stop.” “ I cm rejoiced to have been of as‘S'tance to you. miss,” replied Baines, somewhat sheepishly. for he was not a “ ladies' man.” “ Will you ride home ?”

No ; 1 am too nervous to ride again to-day. ! must walk the machine home ; it is not veryfar, only to Wool ton.’, “ Then, von will allow me to wheel it home for you. Miss. ’ “My name is Ettie Cranston. Yes, you may accompany me home, if you will. My mother will thank you better than I can.”

The awkward manner in which he wheeled the safety along the road caused him to be the laughing-stock of most folks they met. and his perspiring face grew hotter as he realised that Miss Ormision was enjoying the fun. “ You arc not a cyclist, Mr. ’ *- HainbR —George Baines. 1 crave vour pardon, Miss Cranston. No : Tam all at sea with this sort of thing.” “ But ! will learn," he told himself. “ You are a botanist, 1 see,” she presently remarked, having noticed his tin case. “We have at least one hobby in common. Are you a member of the Naturalists’ Society ? ” “ No, Miss-Cranston.” “ 1 am surprised.” And somehow the conversation flagged for the rest of the walk. Mrs Cranston, was, as her daughter had said, more fluent in her expressions of grautude for the service rendered to her daughter. But she was an astute woman, and before asking him to stay and have tea with them contrived to ascertain his position and prospects. ft was past nine o’clock before he left Woolton. and on the way home he realised that he was iu a new world—he was over head and ears in love with sweet Ettie Cranston. “ Whatever has happened to Baines ? He looks as though some hitherto unknown relative had left him a fortune,” remarked one of the clerks to his chum in the office, while the two were having lunch on the Monday following the adventure.

“ You are right, and what is even more wonderful to me, he has been quietly pumping me ns to the best safety to buv. He is going in for cycling.” •• Then I’ll lay you two to one there is a lady in the ease.” “ Probably ; therefore, I’ll not take your offer.’’ Baines, at a very early hour every morning that week, might have been seen trying to conquer the difficulties of learning to ride a pneumatic safety. Being of strong nerve, determined will, and of supple frame, he quickly surmounted those difficulties, and early on the following Saturday afternoon, to the mingled surprise, amusement, and secret gratification of Ettie Cranston, he made ids appearance at her abode in full cycling costume, and boldly asked her if she would go with him for a spin ? " “ But you deceived me, Mr. Baines ; you told me last Saturday you did not ride.” “ And it was quite true. Your machine was the first I ever handled. 1 can ride now,though; have ridden my machine all the way.” During the vvi elc Mrs. Cranston had made some inquiries in the city, and was quite satisfied with what she had heard of her daughter’s new admirer. It: was evidently a case of “ love at first sight ” with him, and she saw no reason to interfere. “ May I go, mother ? ■' asked Ettie. “If you like, Eltie. Mr Baines is quite < qual to the task of taking care of you, I can see.’ And, to Baines’s delight, the way in which the ir irl blushed convinced him that his task of winning her love would not be a difficult one. That Saturday afternoon was the happiest Q e - rge Baines had ever spent. They rode to a wood and there hotanised for a couple of hours, Ettie being delighted with her companion's conversation,for it evinced a knowledge of the science such as she had not dreamt he possessed. And before they remounted their machines to return he had courageously told her of his life. “ I cannot allow our friendship to continue whilst you remained in ignorance that I am a—well, not quite a narnokss waif, for those who descried me at the workhouse door did give me a nr me ; but the world regards the pauper brand as a disgrace.”

“ Then I am not one of that world, Mr. Baines. I honour you for tour frankness, and nothing you have told me will affect our friendship, so far as I am concerned.” “ But your mother, Ettie ?” It was the firsttirue he had used herJChristian name, and she did not res ult it “ Mother will not be actuated by what others may think, even supposing that what you have told mo becomes known to our friends, which

is extremely unlikely,” replied the sensible girl. The couitship after that afternoon went on swimmingly, and a few weeks before the date of the wedding George Baines purchased a splendid tandem safety. He had jokingly proposed that they should take their honeymoon on a tandem, and Ettie eagerly assented. The wedding took place last Whit-Monday, early iu the morning, and before noon the newly-wedded pair set out for Preston, on their way to the Lakes, where they intended t > stay for a weak or so, and then tour the Lake country. That first day’s ride was keenly enjoyed, the road, except short distances of “cobble” stones, being splendid for cycling. But on arriving at Preston their troubles seemed to have commenced. No luggage had arrived at the Victoria Hotel, wUere a bedroom had been secured by letter. The Gladstone bag of the bridegroom and the travelling case of the bride had been despatched early that morning addressed to the hotel,but inquiry at the station elicited no information. Bank Holiday traffic, the officials opined, was responsible for the delay. And Ettie, clad iu “ rational ” costume, was keenly disappointed. She could not parade the streets of Preston in cycling dress, and to avoid the amused observation of other guests and servants Mr. and Mrs. Baines took their meals in their bedroom. It was an unfortunate commencement of the honeymoon, and to his dismay George found his bride in tears on his return from a short walk, to obtain paper and stamps for letters home Early in the morning the luggage arrived, but Ettie resolutely refused to unpack, and sending it on to Lancaster they set out for the old county town. Neither George nor Ettie had possessed the least notioi. that “ rational ” costume was so very uncommon in Lancaster as to cause its wearer to be followed anil hooted at iu the streets, to Ettie’s manifest annoyance. “ Had we not better send our machine home, George, and go on by train r” she ventured to ask her husband, after they had found shelter from the little crowd of idlers who followed them clown Market-street. “ Certainly, dear, if you re ally wish it. But we must be prepared to face the chaff of all our friends after we return.” “Then vve will go on, and let the fools gape at us, if it pleases them.” From Lancaster they went to Ingleton, where they stayed over the Sunday, Ettie taking several very creditable drawings of Thornton Force. Fecca Falls, Thornton Church, and Baxengill Gorge, the bride having quite recovered her wonted equanimity, and grown accustomed to be stared at.

The glimpse which they obtained of the grandeur of the fell district so impressed them that they readily acceded to the advice of the landlord of the \Vneat Sheaf at Ingleton to diverge from the route they had previously mapped out, aud travel round by Hawes, thence to Bedbergh, and so to Kendal and Windermere. The distance from Ingleton to Hawes is hut 16 miles, and though the road, they were warned, was very hilly, they set out with the hopefulness of tandem cyclists, and still closer bonds of wedded love. It was hard work, for the road was rough as well as hilly, but they went along cheerily until they had passed Ribblehead station, about six miles oil their way. Then an entirely unforeseen accident occurred. A bit of glass Stic king up in the road made such a rip in the front wheel tyre that George at once perceived it. would be impossible to repair with such appliances as he had with him. They were fortunately-proceeding up a s*Warp incline at the time, or the sudden stoppage might have caused a graver mishap to one or both of them. “ What is to be done, Ettie ?” asked George, ruefully. “ We must walk on, my dear ; there is no

other course.” “ But wo have only come six miles according to this map.” “ That leaves ten ; we can do it.” But ten miles on such a road was worse than fifteen on a good level turnpike, and long before they reached Hawes Eltie was awfully tired. On their arrival, George wired to a friend in Liverpool to send him on a tyre, a local cyclist assuring him that he could fix it on. There was little worth seeing in the neighbourhood, and both were glad to make another start, after wailing three days for the tyre. “ Let us hope our misfortunes are all endei, Ettie, darling,” said George, as they started for Kendal. “ I hope so. George ; or I shall wish we had not adopted the tandem for our honeymoon, which has not been all one could wish so far.” Like Solomon, George Baines knew that there was “ a time to keep silence," and ho wisely refrained from adding to his bride’s vexation. A journey through Garsdale, a narrow valley shut in on either side by hills close on 2,000 feet high to Sedbergh, and then a shorter spin after dinner to Kendal, restored Ettie’s spirits and both looked forward with delight to the intended rest at Windermere: But Fate was against them. Soon after leaving Btaveley, a village live miles from Kendal, they were descending asteep hill,when the brake ceased to act. George had never learned to ‘ back pedal,” and before they could fully realise their danger they were going down the Dili at im awful speed. George was in front, and seeing that at the foot of the hill there was a sharp curve in the road, which it would be almost impossible to turn in safety, he resolved to run the machine into the hedge which faced them at the bottom of the hill, and trust to luck. “ Hold tight, Ettie ! We’re going into the In dge ! ” he exclaimed, and in another couple of seconds they dashed into the mass of hawthorn, wild rose, and honeysuckle forming the hedge. George was pitched headlong over Ihe handles, and landed in the field on the other side, stunned ; Ettie got a shocking blow on Ihe bridge of her nose, from one of her husband's hoot heels, she believed, and was terribly scratched by the thorns of the wild rose bushes ; but escaped with no other damage. “ George, where are you ?” .she shouted in wailing tones, after extricating herself from the thorns and the machine, in which her coat had become entangled. But there was no response, and peering through the hi dge the horrified young bride saw her husband lying in a strange position on the grass so still and motionless that she thought he had been killed. Forgetting the pain of her injured nose she sought t f the gate of the field, and thus ri ached her nusband. “ George, George, speak to me ! No, he is not dead,only stuuned,” and seeing a brook not far off, she ran and dipped her handkerchief in water, wherewith she bathed George’s temples. Presently he opened his eyes, and smiled faintly. “ Don’t be alarmed, my Ettie. My left arm is broken, 1 fear.” Ettie had attended ambulance classes, now put her acquirements to practical use. With a number of hazel sticks cut with her husband’s knife from a plantation close by she formed splints, secured them by handkerchiefs, and after George had rested a while they started to w- lk to Windermere, and after some consideration they decided to stay at Windermere for the rest of their honeymoon, the facilities at Bowness for sailing or driving being all that were necessary to set them both up again. :

Naturally their nasty adven ure was much talked of in the neighbourhood, and much sympathy was shown to the young couple. One lovely afternoon they went for a walk along the road to Ambleside, aud when near Troutbeck Bridge they met an elderly lady ;md gentleman, also walking. The gentleman stared hard itt George, and seemed on the point of speaking, but checked himself. “ Did you notice that gentleman, Georg ? Do you know him ?” “ No : never saw him before, so far a 1 can remember.” “He probably fancied he knew you ; took you at first for someone else, possibly.” But when they got back to their hotel the the Crown, George was informed by the waiter that a gentleman, named Baines, wished to see him privately in his sitting-room. “ Baines ! »Show me to him,” said George, excitedly. And in another moment he was face to face with the gentleman they had met on the road an hour before. “ Will you pardon me, sir, if I seem inquisitive ? My motive is such that I have no slternativo. Your name. I understand, is George Baines. Do you know where you were born, or ought of your parentage ?” “ Nothing more than that I was reared in the pirish workhouse at Driffield,in Yorkshire.” “ I was sure I was right, Lucy, this is indeed our long-lost son !”

And the next moment the astonished young man was folded iu the embrace of his mother—the lady whom he had seen iu the road. “ George, my boy, you must not blame us. Do not think we deserted you. When only four mouths old you were stolen from us by my nephew, who hoped to inherit our property before you were born. Five years ago hr; died, after confessing where you had been left a few days after you were taken from us. We went to Driffield, only to learn that you ran away from your master when fifteen years old, and that no trace of you was discovered. There was no photograph of you as a boy iu existence —the parish do not photograph their pauper children, we were informed ; and though we advertised extensively, and employed an experienced detective, we could obtain no tidings of our long-lost son. Now chance, or rather Providence, has restored you to us. What is the matter with your arm ?” “ Had a cycling accident, father, and broke it.” “ And the lady with you this afternoon ? I noticed that she also had been in the wars.” “ She is my wife. We were married oil WhitMonday, and have been riding tandem since, previous to the accident, on what is termed a safety, but which proved anything but safe for us.” “ Will you bring her to us, George ? She is our daughter, you know ?” said his mother. Iu a few words he told Ettie the startling stoiy, and the joung bride was overwhelmed with delight for the sake of her husband. Ihe brand of disgrace of which he bad spoken so bitterly had now been effaced. And after the joyful party had dined together, and Ettie learnt that George's parents were wealthy, she forgot the probable disfigurement of ht r nose iu building castles iu the air—thinking of the glorious time in store for them both

Mr. Baines lived on a good estate in Leicestershire, whither, of course, George aud his wife eventually followed them. It had been intended by some of his cycling friends to propose him for captain of a new club about to be formed, but alter a dinner, to which he invited his fellow-clerks and cycling acquaintances, prior to his departure for bis father’s estate, he astonished them hj- announcing that Wife and himself had given up “ the wheel.” a humorous narrative of their adventures during their honeymoon was wound up by his declaration that it was his “ first aud last tandem journey.”