[Ill.u.s.tration: I WAS PULLED UP SHORT BY A MOUNTED POLICEMAN.]
At a turn of the corner, however, as luck would have it, I was pulled up short by a mounted policeman. He blocked the road with his horse, like an ogre, and asked me, in a very gruff Swabian voice, if this was a licensed bicycle. I had no idea, till he spoke, that any license was required; though to be sure I might have guessed it; for modern Germany is studded with notices at all the street corners, to inform you in minute detail that everything is forbidden. I stammered out that I did not know. The mounted policeman drew near and inspected me rudely. "It is strongly undersaid," he began, but just at that moment my pursuer came up, and, with American quickness, took in the situation. He accosted the policeman in choice bad German. "I have two licenses," he said, producing a handful. "The Fraulein rides with me."
I was too much taken aback at so providential an interposition to contradict this highly imaginative statement. My highwayman had turned into a protecting knight-errant of injured innocence. I let the policeman go his way; then I glanced at my preserver. A very ordinary modern St. George he looked, with no lance to speak of, and no steed but a bicycle. Yet his mien was rea.s.suring.
"Good morning, miss," he began--he called me "Miss" every time he addressed me, as though he took me for a barmaid. "Ex-cuse _me_, but why did you want to speed her?"
"I thought you were pursuing me," I answered, a little tremulous, I will confess, but avid of incident.
"And if I was," he went on, "you might have con-jectured, miss, it was for our mutual advantage. A business man don"t go out of his way unless he expects to turn an honest dollar; and he don"t reckon on other folks going out of theirs, unless he knows he can put them in the way of turning an honest dollar with him."
"That"s reasonable," I answered: for I am a political economist. "The benefit should be mutual." But I wondered if he was going to propose at sight to me.
He looked me all up and down. "You"re a lady of con-siderable personal attractions," he said, musingly, as if he were criticising a horse; "and I want one that sort. That"s jest why I trailed you, see? Besides which, there"s some style about you."
"Style!" I repeated.
"Yes," he went on; "you know how to use your feet; and you have good understandings."
I gathered from his glance that he referred to my nether limbs. We are all vertebrate animals; why seek to conceal the fact?
"I fail to follow you," I answered frigidly; for I really didn"t know what the man might say next.
[Ill.u.s.tration: SEEMS I DIDN"T MAKE MUCH OF A JOB OF IT.]
"That"s so!" he replied. "It was _I_ that followed _you_; seems I didn"t make much of a job of it, either, anyway."
I mounted my machine again. "Well, good morning," I said, coldy. "I am much obliged for your kind a.s.sistance; but your remark was fict.i.tious, and I desire to go on unaccompanied."
He held up his hand in warning. "You ain"t going!" he cried, horrified.
"You ain"t going without hearing me! I mean business, say! Don"t chuck away good money like that. I tell you, there"s dollars in it."
"In what?" I asked, still moving on, but curious. On the slope, if need were, I could easily distance him.
"Why, in this cycling of yours," he replied. "You"re jest about the very woman I"m looking for, miss. Lithe--that"s what I call you. I kin put you in the way of making your pile, I kin. This is a _bona-fide_ offer.
No flies on _my_ business! You decline it? Prejudice! Injures you; injures me! Be reasonable anyway!"
I looked round and laughed. "Formulate yourself," I said, briefly.
He rose to it like a man. "Meet me at Fraunheim; corner by the Post Office; ten o"clock to-morrow morning," he shouted, as I rode off, "and ef I don"t convince you there"s money in this job, my name"s not Cyrus W. Hitchc.o.c.k."
Something about his keen, unlovely face impressed me with a sense of his underlying honesty. "Very well," I answered,"I"ll come, if you follow me no further." I reflected that Fraunheim was a populous village, and that only beyond it did the mountain road over the Taunus begin to grow lonely. If he wished to cut my throat, I was well within reach of the resources of civilisation.
When I got home to the Abode of Blighted Fraus that evening, I debated seriously with myself whether or not I should accept Mr. Cyrus W.
Hitchc.o.c.k"s mysterious invitation. Prudence said _no_; curiosity said _yes_; I put the question to a meeting of one; and, since I am a daughter of Eve, curiosity had it. Carried unanimously. I think I might have hesitated, indeed, had it not been for the Blighted Fraus. Their talk was of dinner and of the digestive process; they were critics of digestion. They each of them sat so complacently through the evening--solid and stolid, stodgy and podgy, stuffed comatose images, knitting white woollen shawls, to throw over their capacious shoulders at _table d"hote_--and they purred with such content in their middle-aged rotundity that I made up my mind I must take warning betimes, and avoid their temptations to adipose deposit. I prefer to grow upwards; the Frau grows sideways. Better get my throat cut by an American desperado, in my pursuit of romance, than settle down on a rock like a placid fat oyster. I am not by nature sessile.
Adventures are to the adventurous. They abound on every side; but only the chosen few have the courage to embrace them. And they will not come to you: you must go out to seek them. Then they meet you half-way, and rush into your arms, for they know their true lovers. There were eight Blighted Fraus at the Home for Lost Ideals, and I could tell by simple inspection that they had not had an average of half an adventure per lifetime between them. They sat and knitted still, like Awful Examples.
If I had declined to meet Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k at Fraunheim, I know not what changes it might have induced in my life. I might now be knitting. But I went boldly forth, on a voyage of exploration, prepared to accept aught that fate held in store for me.
As Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k had a.s.sured me there was money in his offer, I felt justified in speculating. I expended another three marks on the hire of a bicycle, though I ran the risk thereby of going perhaps without Monday"s dinner. That showed my vocation. The Blighted Fraus, I felt sure, would have clung to their dinner at all hazards.
When I arrived at Fraunheim, I found my alert American punctually there before me. He raised his crush hat with awkward politeness. I could see he was little accustomed to ladies" society. Then he pointed to a close cab in which he had reached the village.
"I"ve got it inside," he whispered, in a confidential tone. "I couldn"t let "em ketch sight of it. You see, there"s dollars in it."
"What have you got inside?" I asked, suspiciously, drawing back. I don"t know why, but the word "it" somehow suggested a corpse. I began to grow frightened.
"Why, the wheel, of course," he answered. "Ain"t you come here to ride it?"
"Oh, the wheel?" I echoed, vaguely, pretending to look wise; but unaware, as yet, that that word was the accepted Americanism for a cycle. "And I have come to ride it?"
"Why, certainly," he replied, jerking his hand towards the cab. "But we mustn"t start right here. This thing has got to be kept dark, don"t you see, till the last day."
Till the last day! That was ominous. It sounded like monomania. So ghostly and elusive! I began to suspect my American ally of being a dangerous madman.
"Jest you wheel away a bit up the hill," he went on, "out o" sight of the folks, and I"ll fetch her along to you."
"Her?" I cried. "Who?" For the man bewildered me.
"Why, the wheel, miss! _You_ understand! This is business, you bet! And you"re jest the right woman!"
He motioned me on. Urged by a sort of spell, I remounted my machine and rode out of the village. He followed, on the box-seat of his cab. Then, when we had left the world well behind, and stood among the sun-smitten boles of the pine-trees, he opened the door mysteriously, and produced from the vehicle a very odd-looking bicycle.
It was clumsy to look at. It differed immensely, in many particulars, from any machine I had yet seen or ridden.
The strenuous American fondled it for a moment with his hand, as if it were a pet child. Then he mounted nimbly. Pride shone in his eye. I saw in a second he was a fond inventor.
He rode a few yards on. Next he turned to me eagerly. "This ma-chine,"
he said, in an impressive voice, "_is_ pro-pelled _by_ an eccentric."
Like all his countrymen, he laid most stress on unaccented syllables.
"Oh, I knew you were an eccentric," I said, "the moment I set eyes upon you."
He surveyed me gravely. "You misunderstand me, miss," he corrected.
"_When_ I say an eccentric, I mean, a crank."
"They are much the same thing," I answered, briskly. "Though I confess I would hardly have applied so rude a word as _crank_ to you."
He looked me over suspiciously, as if I were trying to make game of him, but my face was sphinx-like. So he brought the machine a yard or two nearer, and explained its construction to me. He was quite right: it _was_ driven by a crank. It had no chain, but was moved by a pedal, working narrowly up and down, and attached to a rigid bar, which impelled the wheels by means of an eccentric.
Besides this, it had a curious device for altering the gearing automatically while one rode, so as to enable one to adapt it to the varying slope in mounting hills. This part of the mechanism he explained to me elaborately. There was a gauge in front which allowed one to sight the steepness of the slope by mere inspection; and according as the gauge marked one, two, three, or four, as its gradient on the scale, the rider pressed a b.u.t.ton on the handle-bar with his left hand once, twice, thrice, or four times, so that the gearing adapted itself without an effort to the rise in the surface. Besides, there were devices for rigidity and compensation. Altogether, it was a most apt and ingenious piece of mechanism. I did not wonder he was proud of it.
"Get up and ride, miss," he said in a persuasive voice.
I did as I was bid. To my immense surprise, I ran up the steep hill as smoothly and easily as if it were a perfectly-laid level.
"Goes nicely, doesn"t she?" Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k murmured, rubbing his hands.