A CYCLE RACE, WITH A SEQUEL. 



MISS C. H. THAYER. 



If we do not live in Chicago, New York 

 or Boston, there is just as much wheeling 

 enthusiasm to the square inch in our little 

 town as in any of those cities; and there 

 are any number of bright girls who can 

 beat at golf and tennis, or do a century 

 without wilting like frosted flowers. Al- 

 though we can boast no fine parks, there 

 are good roads, and high hills that one may 

 descend like an avalanche, with the exhila- 

 rating risk of breaking one's neck before 

 reaching the bottom. 



Nearly all the girls have wheels, and ride 

 them, gracefully or awkwardly, according 

 to the girl. What a difference there is! 

 Some ride as if trying to hit their chins with 

 their knees, at every revolution of the crank, 

 while others glide along with scarcely any 

 apparent pedal motion. Awkwardness does 

 not seem to detract from the enjoyment; 

 so what matter? 



Now, we wanted to have a race, but not 

 a public one. " Where can we go?" was 

 asked and discussed, as only a score of 

 girls' tongues can discuss an interesting 

 question. 



" If Mr. Canning would only let us use 

 his beautiful drive," said one, " how lovely 

 it would be! " 



" Propose a trip to the moon," suggested 

 a sarcastic listener. 



" Or a road built by ourselves," pro- 

 posed another. 



" Well, girls," I interposed, " why not ask 

 Mr. Canning? He's not an ogre." 



" Very near it," cried a laughing girl. 

 " He's a crusty old bachelor." 



" He has that reputation, because he pays 

 no attention to ladies; but he may be diffi- 

 dent." 



"Diffident! A millionaire diffident!" 



" Well," I persisted, " it's the only place 

 for a race, and we shall have to give up the 

 scheme altogether, or ask Mr. Canning. 

 Who will do it?" 



" Not I! " resounded emphatically from 

 all sides. 



' Then I shall, myself," I declared. 



"Olive Dawes!" exclaimed one; '"you 

 won't dare to beard that old bachelor in 

 his den!" 



" No, but I dare beard him in his hand- 

 some house; and be delighted to get inside 

 of it, too. Besides, he is not so terribly old 

 —not more than 40, and some men are just 

 lovely at that age." 



Mr. Canning is the wealthiest man of our 

 town, and his residence is elegance itself, 

 with a charming shaded drive all around it. 

 On that charming shaded drive we wanted 

 to have our race; but of course the owner's 

 permission must be asked. It did require 

 some confidence and self-assurance to ask 



it; but I put on a bold face, and said I 

 would go if one of the other girls would go, 

 too. 



" I'll do it," was the prompt reply, from 

 Patty Armstrong. 



Very well," I replied, not greatly de- 

 lighted; for we thought Patty an insignifi- 

 cant little thing, who had reason to feel flat- 

 tered with any notice we took of her. She 

 had a deprecating air, as if apologizing for 

 the liberty .of existing. 



However, that very afternoon, arrayed in 

 our best and gayest, we called on Mr. Can- 

 ning. We were shown into a room, the 

 richness of which surpassed even my ex- 

 pectations. I looked at Patty, supposing 

 she would be completely overcome by such 

 magnificence; but she appeared as cool and 

 calm as if she had been used to such things 

 all her life. 



Mr. Canning was gallantry itself. I felt a 

 little nervous when he came in, but he was 

 so polite 1 made my request without any 

 hesitation. He granted it so cordially and 

 pleasantly, I exclaimed, gushingly: " I 

 think you are splendid! " 



He looked amused, and thanked me. 

 Then he said he would give the winner of 

 the race a prize and a banquet, in his large 

 dining-hall. 



" Shall you both be contestants? " he in- 

 quired. 



" I'll not," I replied. 



" I will," Patty said, to my amazement. 

 The idea of that little washed-out creature 

 trying to beat 20 wide-awake girls! 



Mr. Canning regarded her in the most 

 benign manner. " I wish you success, Miss 

 Armstrong," he said, with unnecessary em- 

 phasis, it seemed to me; " and if I professed 

 to judge faces, I would predict you will win 

 the race." He evidently meant it, too. 



After this the girls were in a constant 

 state of excitement; practising on their bi- 

 cycles, and riding at break-neck speed — all 

 except Patty, who did not ride much 

 oftener than usual. 



" Why don't you practise fast riding?" 

 I asked. 



" I don't want to waste all my strength 

 beforehand," she replied. 



" She's wise," one of the girls scoffingly 

 remarked. " She'll need all the strength 

 she has to win the race." 



The eventful day came, and oh, how ex- 

 cited we all were! There were 20 riders, all 

 but poor Patty dr.essed in new bicycle suits 

 that were gay and becoming. I always 

 thought a horse race a splendid sight, but 

 this was prettier. Such bright, expectant 

 faces and flashing eyes; such animated 

 gestures and laughing threats! 



At the signal, off they started, flushed 



