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A BICYCLE OF CATHAY
A Novel
By Frank R. Stockton
Author of "The Great Stone of Sardis," "The Associate Hermits" etc.
Illustrated by Orson Lowell
1900
[Illustration: The doctor's daughter]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER
II. A BAD TWIST
III. THE DUKE'S DRESSING-GOWN
IV. A BIT OF ADVICE
V. THE LADY AND THE CAVALIER
VI. THE HOLLY SPRIG INN
VII. MRS. CHESTER IS TROUBLED
VIII. ORSO
IX. A RUNAWAY
X. THE LARRAMIE FAMILY
XI. THE THREE MCKENNAS
XII. BACK TO THE HOLLY SPRIG
XIII. A MAN WITH A LETTER
XIV. MISS EDITH IS DISAPPOINTED
XV. MISS WILLOUGHBY
XVI. AN ICICLE
XVII. A FORECASTER OF HUMAN PROBABILITIES
XVIII. REPENTANCE AVAILS NOT
XIX. BEAUTY, PURITY, AND PEACE
XX. BACK FROM CATHAY
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER
HALF-TITLE
"I PUT ON MY COAT"
"THE RAIN WAS COMING DOWN HARD"
"ON MY RIGHT A LIGHTED DOORWAY"
A FEW THOUGHTS
"THE BEAUTY OF HER TEETH"
"I KICKED OFF MY EMBROIDERED SLIPPERS"
"IT WOULD BE WELL FOR ME TO SWALLOW A CAPSULE"
"AS SOON AS I HAD SPOKEN THESE WORDS"
"I DISMOUNTED AND APPROACHED THE WALL"
"I THOUGHT FOR A FEW MOMENTS"
"I WENT OUT FOR A WALK"
MRS. CHESTER
"SHE BEGAN TO TALK ABOUT WALFORD"
"BUT WE WERE NOT ALONE"
"TO MY LEFT I SAW A LINE OF TREES"
"HE WAS RUNNING AWAY"
"HE SOON FELT THAT HE WAS UNDER CONTROL"
"A LITTLE ARMY HAD THROWN ITSELF UPON ME"
"'WOULD IT BE EASIER TO MANAGE A BOY OR A BEAR?'"
"I TAPPED MY LEFT PALM"
"THERE WAS A SUDDEN FLUSH UPON HER FACE"
"THE SCENE VIVIDLY RECURRED TO MY MIND"
DECIPHERING THE DAGO'S LETTER
"'I DON'T THINK YOU OUGHT TO TAKE THIS LETTER'"
"'DO YOU THINK YOU COULD HIT IT WITH AN APPLE?'"
"TALKING ABOUT BABY BEARS"
"I HELD THAT PICTURE A GOOD WHILE"
"'NO, SIR,' SHE SAID"
"CUT LIKE THAT"
EUROPA
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I
THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER
It was a beautiful summer morning when slowly I wheeled my way along
the principal street of the village of Walford. A little valise was
strapped in front of my bicycle; my coat, rolled into a small compass,
was securely tied under the seat, and I was starting out to spend my
vacation.
I was the teacher of the village school, which useful institution had
been closed for the season the day before, much to the gratification
of pedagogue and scholars. This position was not at all the summit of
my youthful ambition. In fact, I had been very much disappointed when
I found myself obliged to accept it, but when I left college my
financial condition made it desirable for me to do something to
support myself while engaged in some of the studies preparatory to a
professional career.
I have never considered myself a sentimental person, but I must admit
that I did not feel very happy that morning, and this state of mind
was occasioned entirely by the feeling that there was no one who
seemed to be in the least sorry that I was going away. My boys were so
delighted to give up their studies that they were entirely satisfied
to give up their teacher, and I am sure that my vacation would have
been a very long one if they had had the ordering of it. My landlady
might have been pleased to have me stay, but if I had agreed to pay my
board during my absence I do not doubt that my empty room would have
occasioned her no pangs of regret. I had friends in the village, but
as they knew it was a matter of course that I should go away during
the vacation, they seemed to be perfectly reconciled to the fact.
As I passed a small house which was the abode of my laundress, my
mental depression was increased by the action of her oldest son. This
little fellow, probably five years of age, and the condition of whose
countenance indicated that his mother's art was seldom exercised upon
it, was playing on the sidewalk with his sister, somewhat younger and
much dirtier.
As I passed the little chap he looked up and in a sharp, clear voice,
he cried: "Good-bye! Come back soon!" These words cut into my soul.
Was it possible that this little ragamuffin was the only one in that
village who was sorry to see me depart and who desired my return? And
the acuteness of this cut was not decreased by the remembrance that on
several occasions when he had accompanied his mother to my lodging I
had given him small coins.
I was beginning to move more rapidly along the little path, well worn
by many rubber tires, which edged the broad roadway, when I perceived
the doctor's daughter standing at the gate of her father's front yard.
As I knew her very well, and she happened to be standing there and
looking in my direction, I felt that it would be the proper thing for
me to stop and speak to her, and so I dismounted and proceeded to roll
my bicycle up to the gate.
As the doctor's daughter stood looking over the gate, her hands
clasped the tops of the two central pickets.
"Good-morning," said she. "I suppose, from your carrying baggage,
that you are starting off for your vacation. How far do you expect to
go on your wheel, and do you travel alone?"
"My only plan," I answered, "is to ride over the hills and far away!
How far I really do not know; and I shall be alone except for this
good companion." And as I said this I patted the handle-bar of my
bicycle.
"Your wheel does seem to be a sort of a companion," she said; "not so
good as a horse, but better than nothing. I should think, travelling
all by yourself in this way, you would have quite a friendly feeling
for it. Did you ever think of giving it a name?"
"Oh yes," said I. "I have named it. I call it a 'Bicycle of Cathay.'"
"Is there any sense in such a name?" she asked. "It is like part of a
quotation from Tennyson, isn't it? I forget the first of it."
"You are right," I said. "'Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle
of Cathay.' I cannot tell you exactly why, but that seems to suggest a
good name for a bicycle."
"But your machine has two wheels," said she. "Therefore you ought to
say, 'Better one hundred years of Europe than two cycles of Cathay.'"
"I bow to custom," said I. "Every one speaks of a bicycle as a wheel,
and I shall not introduce the plural into the name of my good steed."
"And you don't know where your Cathay is to be?" she asked.
I smiled and shook my head. "No," I answered, "but I hope my cycle
will carry me safely through it."
The doctor's daughter looked past me across the road. "I wish I were a
man," said she, "and could go off as I pleased, as you do! It must be
delightfully independent."
I was about to remark that too much independence is not altogether
delightful, but she suddenly spoke:
"You carry very little with you for a long journey," and as she said
this she grasped the pickets of the gate more tightly. I could see the
contraction of the muscles of her white hands. It seemed as if she
were restraining something.
"Oh, this isn't all my baggage," I replied. "I sent on a large bag to
Waterton. I suppose I shall be there in a couple of days, and then I
shall forward the bag to some other place."
"I do not suppose you have packed up any medicine among your other
things?" she asked. "You don't look as if you very often needed
medicine."
I laughed as I replied that in the course of my life I had taken but
little.
"But if your cycle starts off rolling early in the morning," she said,
"or keeps on late in the evening, you ought to be able to defend
yourself against malaria. I do not know what sort of a country Cathay
may be, but I should not be a bit surprised if you found it full of
mists and morning vapors. Malaria has a fancy for strong people, you
know. Just wait here a minute, please," and with that she turned and
ran into the house.
I had liked the doctor's daughter ever since I had begun to know her,
although at first I had found it a little hard to become acquainted
with her.
She was the treasurer of the literary society of the village, and I
was its secretary. We had to work together sometimes, and I found her
a very straightforward girl in her accounts and in every other way.
In about a minute she returned, carrying a little pasteboard box.
"Here are some one-grain quinine capsules," she said. "They have no
taste, and I am quite sure that if you get into a low country it would
be a good thing for you to take at least one of them every morning.
People may have given you all sorts of things for your journey, but I
do not believe any one has given you this." And she handed me the box
over the top of the gate.
I did not say that her practical little present was the only thing
that anybody had given me, but I thanked her very heartily, and
assured her that I would take one every time I thought I needed it.
Then, as it seemed proper to do so, I straightened up my bicycle as if
I would mount it. Again her fingers clutched the top of the two
palings.
"When father comes home," she said, "he will be sorry to find that he
had not a chance to bid you good-bye. And, by-the-way," she added,
quickly, "you know there will be one more meeting of the society. Did
you write out any minutes for the last evening, and would you like me
to read them for you?"
"Upon my word!" I exclaimed. "I have forgotten all about it. I made
some rough notes, but I have written nothing."
"Well, it doesn't matter in the least," said she, quickly. "I remember
everything that happened, and I will write the minutes and read them
for you; that is, if you want me to."
I assured her that nothing would please me better, and we talked a
little about the minutes, after which I thought I ought not to keep
her standing at the gate any longer. So I took leave of her, and we
shook hands over the gate. This was the first time I had ever shaken
hands with the doctor's daughter, for she was a reserved girl, and
hitherto I had merely bowed to her.
As I sped away down the street and out into the open country my heart
was a good deal lighter than it had been when I began my journey. It
was certainly pleasant to leave that village, which had been my home
for the greater part of a year, without the feeling that there was no
one in it who cared for me, even to the extent of a little box of
quinine capsules.