His clothes were thick with dust, his collar
was like a piece of wet rag, and on his face there was a look of utter
and profound resignation.
As we started to our feet--
"Don't touch me," he said. "I'm leading in the Marathon race. The
conditions are fearful. Competitors are required not only to walk, but
at the same time to propel a bicycle, the hind tire of which must be
deflated. You're only allowed five falls, and I've used four of them."
With a final effort he reached the edge of the lawn and laid the bicycle
gently on its side. "'How we brought the good news from Aix to Ghent,'"
he continued. "Yes, I see the car, but I'm not interested. During the
last five hours my life has been so crowded with incident that there is
no room for anything else. Isn't there a cycling club about here I can
join? I've always fancied a grey sweater."
"Did I hear you say that you had fallen, brother?" said I.
"You did. Four times were these noble limbs prostrated in the dust. The
first time was when the handle-bars came off. Oh, it's a beautiful
machine." Solemnly he waited for the laughter to subside. "But she
doesn't turn easily. If my blood counts, there are at least three
corners in the County that are for ever England.
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