I
_HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT_
Jimmieboy's father had bought him a bicycle, and inasmuch as it was
provided with a bag of tools and a nickel plated bell the small youth
was very much pleased with the gift.
"It's got rheumatic tires, too," he said, when describing it to one of
his little friends.
"What's that?" asked the boy.
"Big pieces of hose pipe," said Jimmieboy. "They run all around the
outside of the wheel and when you fill 'em up with wind and screw 'em up
tight so's the wind can't get out, papa says, you can go over anything
easy as a bird."
"I s'pose," said the little friend, "it's sort of like sailing, maybe.
The wind keeps blowing inside o' those pipes and that makes the wheels
go round."
"I guess that's it," returned Jimmieboy.
"But I don't see why they call 'em rheumatic," said the other boy.
"Nor I don't, either," said Jimmieboy, "unless it's because they move a
little stiff at first."
It was not long, however, before Jimmieboy discovered that his father
had made a mistake when he said that the pneumatic tire would enable a
bicycle to ride over anything, for about a week later Jimmieboy tried to
ride over the shaft of a lawn mower with his wheel, with disastrous
results. The boy took a header, and while he himself was not hurt beyond
a scratch or two and a slight shaking up, which took away his appetite,
the wonderful rubber tire was badly battered. What was worse, the
experience made Jimmieboy a little afraid of his new possession, and for
some time it lay neglected.
A few nights ago, however, Jimmieboy's interest in his wheel was aroused
once more, and to-day it is greater than ever, and it all came about in
this way. His father and mother had gone out to make some calls and the
youngster was spending a few minutes of solitude over a very fine fairy
book that had recently been sent to him. While he was gazing at a
magnificent picture of Jack slaying two giants with his left hand and
throttling a dragon with his right, there came a sudden tinkling of a
bell.
"Somebody's at the telephone," thought Jimmieboy, and started to go to
it, when the ringing sound came again, but from a part of the house
entirely away from the neighborhood of the telephone.
"Humph," said Jimmieboy. "That's queer. It isn't the telephone and it
can't be the front door bell--I guess it's the----"
"It's me--Bikey," came a merry voice from behind the door.
"Who?" cried Jimmieboy.
"Bikey," replied the voice. "Don't you remember Bikey, who threw you
over the lawn mower?"
Jimmieboy turned about, and sure enough there stood his neglected wheel.
"I hope you weren't hurt by your tumble," said the little bicycle
standing up on its hind wheel and putting its treadles softly on
Jimmieboy's shoulders, as if it were caressing him.
"No," said Jimmieboy. "The only thing was that it took away my appetite,
and it was on apple pie day. It isn't pleasant to feel as if you
couldn't eat a thing with a fine apple pie staring you in the face. That
was all I felt badly about."
"I'm sorry about the pie," returned the little bicycle, "but glad you
didn't flatten your nose or put your teeth out of joint, as you might
easily have done. I knew a boy once who took a header just as you did,
and after he got up he found that he'd broken the brim of his hat and
turned a beautiful Roman nose into a stub nose."
"You mean snub nose, don't you?" asked Jimmieboy.
"No, I mean stub. Stub means more than snub. Snub means just a plain
turn up nose, but stub means that it's not only turned up, but has very
little of itself left. It's just a stub--that's all," explained the
bicycle. "Another boy I knew fell so hard that he pushed his whole face
right through to the back of his head, and you don't know how queer it
looks to see him walking backward on his way to school."
"I guess I was in great luck," said Jimmieboy. "I might have had a much
harder time than I did."
"I should say so," said the bicycle. "A scratch and loss of appetite,
when you might just as easily have had your whole personal appearance
changed, is getting off very cheap. But, I say, why didn't you turn
aside instead of trying to ride over that lawn mower? Didn't you know
you'd get yourself into trouble?"
"Of course I didn't," said Jimmieboy. "You don't suppose I wanted to
commit soozlecide, do you? I heard papa talking to mamma about the
rheumatic tires on his bicycle, and he said they were great inventions
because they made the wheel boy--boy--well, boy something, I don't
remember what."
"Boyant?" asked the little bicycle, scratching its cyclometer with its
pedal.
"Yes--that was it," said Jimmieboy. "He said the rheumatic tires made
the thing boyant, and I asked him what that meant. He said boyant was a
word meaning light and airy--like a boy, you know, and that boyancy in a
bicycle meant that it could jump over almost anything."
"That is so," said Bikey. "That's what they have those tires for, but
they can't jump over a lawn mower--unless"----Here Bikey paused and
glanced anxiously around. It was evident that he had some great secret
in his mind.
"Unless what?" asked Jimmieboy, his curiosity at once aroused.
"Unless a patent idea of mine, which you and I could try if you wanted
to, is good."
Bikey's voice sank into a whisper.
"There's millions in my idea if it'll work," he continued. "Do you see
this?" he asked, holding up his front wheel. "This tire I have on is
filled with air, and it makes me seem light as air--but it's only
seeming. I'm heavy, as you found out when you tried to get me to jump
over the lawn mower, but if I could only do a thing I want to you could
go sailing over a church steeple as easily as you can ride me over a
lawn."
"You mean to say you'd fly?" asked Jimmieboy, delighted at the idea.
"No--not exactly," returned Bikey. "I never could fly and never wanted
to. Birds do that, and you can buy a bird for two dollars; but a bicycle
costs you anywhere from fifty to a hundred, which shows how much more
valuable bicycles are than birds. No, I don't want to fly, but I would
like to float."
"On water?" asked Jimmieboy.
"No, no, no; in the air," said the little bicycle impatiently--"like a
balloon. Wouldn't that be fine? Anybody can float on the water, even an
old cork; but when it comes to floating in the air, that's not only fun
but it means being talented. A bicycle that could float in the air would
be the finest thing in the world."
"That's very likely true," said Jimmieboy, "but how are you going to do
it? You can't soar."
"Not with my tires filled with air," replied Bikey, "but if you'll take
the hose from the gas stove and fasten one end to the supply valve of my
tires, the other to the gas fixture, fill the tires up with gas and get
aboard I'll bet you we can have a ride that'll turn out to be a regular
sky-scraper."
It sounded like an attractive proposition, but Jimmieboy wanted to know
something more about it before consenting to trifle with the gas pipe.
"What good'll the gas do?" he asked.
"Why, don't you know that gas makes balloons go up?" said Bikey. "They
just cram the balloon as full of gas as they can get it and up she
sails. That's my idea. Fill my rubber tires with gas and up we'll go.
What do you say?"
"I'll do it," cried Jimmieboy with enthusiasm. "I'd love more than
anything else to go biking through the clouds, for to tell the truth
clouds look a great deal softer than grocery carts and lawn mowers, and
I wouldn't mind running into one of them so much. Skybicycling"----
"Pooh! What a term," retorted Bikey. "Skybicycling! Why don't you use
your mind a little and call it skycycling?"
Jimmieboy laughed.
"Perhaps skycling would be better than that," he suggested.
"Or skiking," smiled the little bicycle. "If it works you know I'll be
simply grand. I'll be a sort of Christopher Columbus among bicycles,
and perhaps I'll be called a skicycle instead of bicycle. Oh, it would
be too beautiful!" he added, dancing joyously on his hind wheel.
"It will indeed," said Jimmieboy, "but let's hurry. Seems to me as if I
could hardly wait."
"Me too," chuckled Bikey. "You go up and get the rubber tube, fasten it
to the gas pipe, and inside of ten minutes we'll be off--if it works."
So Jimmieboy rushed off to the attic, seized a piece of rubber tubing
that had been used to carry the supply of gas to his little nursery
stove in the winter, and running back to where Bikey was waiting
fastened it to the fixture in the hall.
"Now," said Bikey, unscrewing the cap of his pneumatic tire, "hold the
other end there and we'll see how it goes."
Jimmieboy hastened to obey, and for five minutes watched his strange
little friend anxiously.
"Feel any lighter?" he said.
"Yes," whispered Bikey, almost shivering with delight. "My front
wheel is off the floor already. I think twenty feet more will
be enough there, and when you've filled up the hind
tire--ta--ta--ti--tum--ti--too--ha--ha! Then we'll go skiking."
The plan was followed out, and when both tires had taken in as much gas
as they could hold Bikey called hoarsely to Jimmieboy:--
"Quick! Quick! Jump aboard or I'll be off without you. Is the door
open?"
"No," said Jimmieboy, clambering into the saddle, after turning off the
gas and screwing the caps firmly on both tires, "b--but the
par--par--parlor window is."
"Good," cried Bikey. "We'll sail through that! Give the right pedal a
good turn; now--one--two--three--we're off!"
And they were off. Out of the hall they flew, through the parlor without
touching the floor, and then sailed through the window out into the
moonlight night.
"Isn't it great," cried Bikey, trembling with delight.
"Greatest that ever was," said Jimmieboy. "But, hi! Take care, turn to
the left, quick."
A great spike of some sort had loomed up before them.
"Excuse me," said Bikey, giving a quick turn. "I was so happy I wasn't
looking where we were going. If you hadn't spoken we'd have got stuck on
that church steeple sure enough."