148 BEGGARS ON HORSEBACK. 



A swish, a whirr, the sharp sting of a bell, and two 

 black-caped cyclists were upon us from the open- 

 ing of a by-road, like two humpbacked monstrosities 

 flying out of the book of Heraldry. The next 

 thing that I saw with any distinctness was the 

 mud squirming through my fingers as I clutched 

 the surface of the road in an endeavour to get my 

 legs clear of the saddle ; and the next, as Tommy 

 and I rose simultaneously to our feet, was Miss 

 O'Flannigan and her Tom retiring to the horizon 

 at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The cyclists 

 were also retiring, in the opposite direction, at 

 about sixty miles an hour. Had Tommy been 

 more practised in the art of pivoting suddenly on 

 his hind -legs while trotting downhill, I should 

 probably have been following in Miss O'Flannigan's 

 wake : as it was, an hysterical " slip up " had been 

 the result, and a final wallowing in the mire. My 

 further impressions of the noble old Holyhead 

 coach-road may be summed up in the statement 

 that its mud is white and is mixed with size to 

 give it adhesive quality. 



