Two and a Bike.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume I, Issue 261, 21 October 1911, Page 4 (Supplement)

Two and a Bike.

. X \§An Adventure of Two Public Schoolßoys,> 'K Told by One of Them. (Published by Special Arrangement.—Copyright.) S)

* k 1A ll'F'-F," I ' *i<L ” I'm certain wn .U n-(-l a little ex it: ment aml a b.,-..th oi im-h air. 1 pi opem we taie a 1 ttl ■ trip t< Saxb.V .. j - why, tint's lo.ir ne.l.s ou, ' ~aid. ' mid "e can't ■.>■'- be.me m-. C : t' , mem t wMk, silly -let's

cniov o'.tr-s'-lvc.**. I’ve • 'Wo shan’t enjoy our-’he . v s'lir... there faieiy. , -1 kuw th-e’s noth.ng to do o ” 1 explained. as pauentlj . s •w’h..w. - The I' *’ 01 tlle , th,,,g ■" b" the there a. d the < 0.nu. 3 back ”

; don't know,” said he. - But 1 c.on’t mind coming to oblige a inem., ■■ Right oh! Next Saturday, then. IT borrow Westby’s bike, ami you can Lnrriw Lloyd’s. We ll te l them te have them in the spinney had a mH -Jone the road for us, piek them up there, and speed off on our iron steeu-> It will be ripping.”

Next dav we interviewed Lloyd ati'l Westley and alia. !y asked them to put tl.eir l ikes at w disposal the following baturdiv afternoon. Lloyd promised to b-nd Dickie his qirte readily, but Motlev needed a lot of persue-Km before 1 eonld. g,-‘. hint to agree, and even then I had to promise h’m a poc.tet-kniie amt

Dickie's pet rat. Saturday •:>me at last and as luck 1 ;,-l it tiio sun shone brightly. Me u . iU 4, d itu crmiiet after lunch until U a-tim? Wo had tea about four o’clock in cm.’ study, mil having washed tne tea-thrigs all up Two believe in tidiness). wo attended call-over, and then strolled down the road to the try.stiog-

ptacc. . Lb yd was there v.ith Ins bike, ami we thumped him on the back. Ho ;ecmed a bit nervous, and was perspiring prcfiis! ly. He seemed very' anxious to go, ro, ns we had the bike in out Lands, we did’nt press him to stay. The cnlv tiling to bo done was to wait for Westlev and the second machine. Westlev didn’t come. 11c waited, waited, and wailed; then at last our surcharged I ■.• clings found vent in

f sqeeeh. • . " What are we to do, Dickie. i “ Do? There’s only one thing I can

; think of—go home! ” • " What ? Give up our treasured expeI dition to Saxby. ami own ourselves * beaten by Westley! 1 should think not. , I’ll tell von what we’ll do. You can 1 ride on tho step, and I’ll pedal you into ; tnu'n ”

“ You can ride nn the stop,” ho cori rected, " and I'll do all the nasty hard

j work of jicdalling.” j I reasoned with him, but he altsolntcly refused to move a yard unless I let i liim have his way. I agreed in the end, ] and at abojit ten past five wo started on | our adventurous tour, Dickie in the saddle nnd I on tho half-inch of steel ! called by courtesy the " step.” i Have you ever ridden in that poff- ! tion? I don't mean for a few brief I yard.*, when everything scorns jolly, but ! lor a solid milo or so at a time? It j you have not, 1 can assure you that it is ! not worth trying On that tiny and : insecure foothold 1 clung, with cramp in my left leg, flies on my nose, my . hands slippery with anxiety and perspiration. and several new wrinkles on ’■ my usually placid face. By the way Dickie talked to me at intervals, im-

ploring me to stand still and not wobble, and keep my paws off his hair, you would have thought he was the sufferer and not I. Naturally I pointed out the emirs >f his wavs to'l.ini, mid repeatedly suggested a change, but he wouldn’t hoar "of it. “ Bester to bear with the ills wc have, than fly to others that wc know not of,” says Shakespeare, and Dickie seemed thoroughly convinced ih it things were mil'll better as they were When I got angry he flattered me with hoi,eve-1 w. id-, saying that 1 In-!:'need b-autifuHy and lie was sure ha couldn’t improve on it. 1 his was all viry I'oil from his point of view, but tin- humour of the situation didn’t appeal to me In the least. llowevet. lie u-us I’i-r.i. ind after about halt an hour .5 torm.ont wo arrived in Saxby about a quarter to six, worn out, thirsty,, and I ->d ten jicred. AA'ell, we strolled about the town in rather 'in idle mam er, and got a second tea at ;i first-class conlectiotier's. A\ •■ didn’t enjoy ourselves e-p: cially, but •Crt! will remember that when we talked the plan over it was an understood thing that Saxby was a dull hole. The expedition v a.; only intended to reflect jury on in—-not to provide enjoyment. But on tho whole w.- were very pleased v.ith onr-elve, in having got there at all, especially on smh a broiling day. Having had’ tea. matters assumed a more < In erful aspect, and we amide i tl inking about the prnbabl- di-comforts of the return journey as mm.b as pos--ible. YYe Trotted about the town u. little, and, then n'»-t six-tiltm-n took the !, ko out of its stable and started back. I'm bound to say Dickie’s a bit <>t a sp irtre.ian -at times. He said I could ride ba k if I liked, and ymi «>ti bet I hopped into the saddle betorc you could wink. No more steps for me. thanks. Dickie regretted his generosity before v-e'd travelled half a mile; but 1 imitated hi> (drtinaey. and steadily refused to <■!:;,n e places, in spite of his fr>oliJ> laments that he wa, getting lockjaw in the calf. He really dees mak? an awful loss about little things. AVo had covered about halt the distance. and had jii-t stopped at a erossro.ul for Dickie t) change legs, when be g.ne a smoth’rrd sort of cry. ■' Hn-.y Tip. Tommy." he whispered, excitedly. ” No lime to waste —forge ahead! " He jumped on again, nearly upsetting the whole "oiv'orn a* he grabbed me bv the shoulders. AVb.at's the row " 1 treked, pedalling u’-.-ilr'.'v in the dir,-, lion of home. S»-en a ghost ? •* AVorse than that. I saw a master down the lane on a bike, and I rather fan -v be spotted us. too.” That was -nil right, if you like. Hero w« were, two miles from the .school, and a mounted policeman (so to speak) on cur t”.:ck. I fob ire- f. ■■••.’ bai-:-.’.. and. judging by Dickie’s trembling hands, he s.-.i. which is a splendid marksman, and

“ Who was it?" 1 ga-ped. " Not Stretton, surely? ” . -No I—l—don t think it was Stretton” gurgled Dickie, as we bumped over a stone. •• I'm nearly sure it was Robinson.’' , 1 m-enthed a .>igh of rtuief, and slaiiK-ei-ed a mt. - If it’s oidv Rii'iliiam we haven t much ’l' beat.'

A faint lm.il cam.' from th - rear. ’lhe verdi 'rc heard sounded like Stop, boys! ” which merely stimulated me to ir.oro vigorous work, and the old bonesbaker fairly bounded along. “ Is it Robinson?” 1 panted, anxiously. <• Ycc I can sc“ him now. Cheer up. <.]d chap. We’ve got a hundred yard; start, am! I say, he s gaining a bit, I fl ink. No-yes! Oh, buck up. yon idly coon ! ” “ I'm- bucking—all 1 know. Any—- •• Seems to bo coming up hand ovei fist TH I vou what, Tommy. Buzz loiniil that lane on ahead. I'll hop off nnd ent across country and meet you at the spinney.” “ Let’s both go ’’ “ Can’t drag the bike over hedges. No; yotill easily keep away from Robinson’bv yourself; I don’t think he can have twigged who we arc. though he rniesscs we’re from tho school. Ate must separate—it’s our only chance.'’ “ Bight oh! ” I groaned. Meanwhile Rolon-on was calling to us at intervals. Wo had sufficient presence of mind to'notice that he always called us " Bovs'. " and never used our name.. I tell you. wo were jolly thankful that his eves weren't sharp enough tn .spot us just then. Aly heart was boating like mad. and I felt Dickie’s on mv back, through the thickness of Ids coat and waistcoat, and mine, too; so von can imagine our fright. I noticed ll.eso little thing* at the tinrn--it' , odd v. hat you tnink of in a re d

Dickie was ur those sheets in a jiffy, an and 1 shau t forg<‘t them as long

ire I live. . 1 stole ;• glance round, and nearly went into the diteli. Robinson was i bout filly yar Is >n ot.r tear, and l‘irkie wns obviously right-. r .I no lane l(l»vo in sight; blimlly 1 swerved int> it ■ ')u:i,io leapt off, and was over tl.a bed<-e in a twinkling; the bike, lightentd by some nine stem.-, sprang forward, and 1 settled, d-’w-’i to a ,-tern chase, ur rr.thcr iiiixht. I.twkdv i-iy pur-iier didn t novice Dickie, or, it Im did, no dia not care el.out rioiiiibg across conmry with a ii!-;u ill tow alter an uncneumbere.l <-l:np. Robinson merely stuck to inc, ■nd ne< "d alouo stolidly. oecas-ioimlJy .-.boil!ing out " Bov! Although I L'B T.-.-ctv eeriaiu 1 i-n-ld shake him <>!t l-it.-l’ .1 bit, 1 ere, pretty sick of tllJ uc-iuess. Yo,; .see 1 had had a fairiy luring ; itor'.oon of it; and I wasn't very’k- -n on a bii vol.' paper-chase at ib.,t period— crept-.'tidy as it was getu;i'< near the time i»r locking the ...d.’ul eat-.re. stdl tlicro was no help i,,r it. cm.! I dett rndne<i that the bes<thing te do uoul-1 be to put in a goo J t :.r-t <a speed.

I urn not a I'.nii cyelrel. 1 rev it with ; all modest; but I really can drive ft . machine lit a go« I I j mpmg pace when ( I like. Of eotirso I wasn’t very ire-h. j buL ■' i<* ir h-ut me v. ings ” in tht usual > style. I looked over my shoulder at inttrv ils. am, was .surrirised to see Robin- { - son still in '.igh;. Hitherto I had no.- j 1 rd much opinion ol lire slaying power, [ but on thi- • ertfu! ev .'iini- he urged j l.i, bike i'll 'ti.rdily in pursuit of hapless me. Of course I didn’t slacken; but when v« had been travelling in this manner for about ten nr-iut-s I began to feel a trifle uneasy. Rol-iireon had no business t.> b-j so peiseverii.g. Accordingly, I r< rved ny weary legs lor a fresh effort. ; and whirled dov. n tin lane at some foil"- | ton miles per hour. It was a strain, | 1 eau tell you. bur the circumstanc re i . cenied to n-.ed strong measures', so I did no: «bj <t to .-acriiice myself to. ■ scape a future ii king. j I looked ro’iud ■w.im. anti to my de- i light, saw *hal the pare* had become too ; hot for my p.ursimr. He halloed again. !

and I ibtmkl.d as I heard him. for his i voice sounds- I as it his stock of wind j •.-.-■is giving out. Cheered by this reflec- ‘ tion, I spurred on and when I next stole a gbitice. Robiu-ou had dismounted. :t:;j was wiping his heated brow. 'lbero wr,-, also a faint sound ol ■ B —(.)—A' " ir. tbo distance, was in a very siimkir condition.

to mvself, and promptly slowed up. " No‘fear of iiis cacelling me now so I can take things a little more easily.' It never nays to be too sure—even when vou think you’re absolutely safe. 1 realise this now, and if I badn t been a fool I'd have realised it then. However. I didn’t—but ambled along on my course with a peaceful heart; and then, all of a sudden, my back tyre punctured! . . 1 bopped off that machine in a twnnkling. and inspected the damage. Yes,, it was no mere thorn-prick, which constant pumping-up might cure, but a good, healthy hole, made by a piece or l-arbed wire which still stack in the cover. If I. hadn’t been such a careless dummy, I should have been bound to notice it lying on the road. Feverishly I looked in the tool-bag behind the saddle, 'there was time to repair it before Robinson arrived if 1 was quick. I searched in vain—there uas no repairing outfit. I groaned in spirit as I realised the walk before me; but I was not too stunned to think of a plan. Obviously, I couldn’t go on till Robinson had passea, for ho would soon overtake me on his •sound machine. No: the only thing to bo done was to cart the bike over tho hedge, and hide there till the coast was clear.

After a great deal of trouble I succeeded in doing this, and lay concealed in :i field of oats. In about ten minutes Robinson came by at a snail’s pace. Ho was certainly very hot, and it was sumo comfort to think there was :ini ther jciiug in distress besides myself. As soon as lie had disappeared 1 ros“; and, pushing my steed in front, made my way down a lane I knew which opened out on the main road going prist our spinaey. Tho lane seemed somewhat longer than I expected, and I was a long time :n finding my way along it. 1 managed to do it after what seemed many hours, and reached tho spinney more dead than alive. Then I went to the cld familiar spot and gave a Iqw whistle. It was answered. “ Are you there, Dickie? ” “ I am," said a cheerless voice; “or all that’s left of me ” “ Come on; we must buck along, or ive shall be late for lock-up.”

I was not long in following him

" Late for lock-un! ” lie echoed, with a bitter laugh. “Do you know what t lie time is? ” ■■ No.”

" 'Ten pest Sevan.” " Thon w j’te locked out already, ' • said, aghast. •• Course wo are It doesn’t much matter now what time wc get in, so I mav ;re well t.ek you how I’ve been amusing mvself lately.” '1 was too dejected to caro what ho Gid. and simply said, " Go on.” " Well, after I buzzed ove.- that hedge i made a bee-line for home, leavings bits of me on every thorn I knocked against. Did Robinson follow mo? No? J Ah, I thought he wouldn't have, when 1 came to consider the matter; but at the time I was in such a hurry tliat every noise I heard seemed like his cliirpy voice. You can imagine 1 didn't let the grass grow under my feet. In short, 1 fan till I believed I was going t<> split in two, and whan I stopped I found myself in the neighbourhood of i lie spinney. After making my way liprc, I spent the rest of my time in having a regular meal of air, drawn ‘lowly into my lungs and as slowly ex- ] c-iied therefrom. I tell you, Tommy, it’s been a regular treat to sit still and just hreatlie." " But why didn’t you rush on and get in before I'r.k-un? " Oh, I thought I might as well wait for you. Rather rough it I'd got off end you liadn’t, you know." Dickie’s a rattling good sort, you can take it from me. “ AA’ell. let’s got in and face the music," I said. AVe rose, and tramped that, last half-mile very quietly. But things weren't quite so bad after all. Every cloud has a silver lining, as somebody justly observes; and tho-say-ing came true in our case, as follows:— AA’o reached the school in safety, shoving the bike in front of us, and were going past the buildings preparatory to ringing our house-master’s bell, when we heard a “ Hist! ” Dickie and I lumped from force of habit. Then we looked up and saw the face of Drummond at the open window. Hullo, you chaps! " he said, in n loud whisper. AVe said " Hullo; [’ " Got lockeu out? ” AVe admitted the charge. “ How are vou going to get in ? ” AVe told him we intended to ring the house-master’s bell and give ourselves up, as criminals always do in story books. “ AVhy not come m this wav? ” he asked.

“ That’s all right, then,” I thought A gleam of hope appeared. “ w Here are you? ’ said Dickie. “ I’m in the sick-room. Got a cold, you know. 1 think you could manage.” “ There’s no spout to climb up, though,” 1 told him. " No, but I’ll let down my sheets, if you’ll wait a moment.” Drummond’s a thoroughly reliable chan at times. V e waited—an appalling time, it seemed ; and then a long, wfiite, snaky sort of thing with a few knots m it came down. Drummond’s face was seen I’ve made it fast,” he said. “ Tied it round the bed-post, and shoved the bed up against the window. Hurry up, you fellows.” , . . Dickie was up those sheets in a jiffy, and 1 was not long in following him., Bv Jove, we are in luck’s way! ” said L ” You’re a thundering good chop, Drum, old boy. Vote of thanks to you." '■ Oh, all right,” he said. " But if 1 matron comes in.”

VVo thumped his back hard, and left were vou I’d cut downstairs before the the room. Our star was fighting for us, for we were never spotted, and got down to onr study ten minutes before I.r:-lor time. (By the way. I forgot to toll vou that ivo stored the bike m art outhouse before we climbed the rope.) We sank into our chairs, and looked long upon each -nlici '• Tell you what. Tommy,” said my •.‘lo.im. “ This honour anti glory business is a bit spoiled in tho baking. I don’t think I’ll go to Saxby again. '• 1 wouldn’t mind, provided we had iv.o hikes,” I said “ Blit riding on the stop is anything but jolly ; and riding on the saddle —with a lump behind me hanging on n:y neck-—is distinctly not a Pleasant Saturday Afternoon. Still, it’s a wreat score getting in safely, after ail?”

So wi ,h sighs of content we did full justice to the viands onr study lockers provided —■ biscuits and cheese. But even now wo sometimes dream that we are again riding two on a hike, and that from behind echoes a ghostly cry ol ” B-O-Y-S! ” in the panting tones of our respected master.