THE MOTOR-CYCLE.
It was about a week after the foregoing events when Jerry received a
letter, bearing in the upper left-hand corner of the envelope the mark
of the C. H. & D. Railroad.
He read the missive, which was short and to the point. Briefly it
informed Jerry that there awaited him at the freight office of the road
one motor-cycle, which he could have by calling and presenting the
enclosed way-bill.
“Hurrah!” shouted the boy. “Three cheers for the Cresville Athletic Club
and Mr. Wakefield! Hurrah!”
Jerry lost no time in calling for his two chums, and the three boys
hurried together to the freight depot.
“What can I do for you boys?” asked Mr. Hitter, the agent in charge.
“I come to get what that calls for,” replied Jerry, handing over the
way-bill.
“Oh, yes, one of them new-fangled bicycles that take a steam engine to
run ’em. Well, you’ll find it down at the end of the platform,” said Mr.
Hitter. “Now, be careful, and don’t blow yourself up. Boys is dreadful
careless like,” he muttered, as he went on with his work.
Boxed in a big crate, at the end of the freight platform, the boys found
the motor-cycle. It was addressed in big letters to “Jerry Hopkins,
Esq.,” and marked “With Care.”
“Shall I unpack it here or get it taken up to the house, crate and all?”
asked Jerry of his chums.
“Oh, unpack it here. Then you can ride it home,” said Bob.
“I know about as much how to ride one as I would how to run a
locomotive,” objected Jerry. “I’ve studied the catalogs, of course, but
I think I’d better start it up at home first.”
“Oh, go ahead, ride it home,” put in Ned. “We can manage to find out how
it works, and we can get some gasolene over to the drug store.”
So, rather against his own calmer judgment, Jerry decided to do as his
friends wished. He borrowed a hammer from Mr. Hitter and soon the crate
was broken apart and the motor-cycle, in all its mechanical beauty, was
revealed.
It certainly was a fine machine and had all the latest improvements.
There were two cylinders instead of one, insuring great speed; the tires
were large, and there was a large reservoir for gasolene. It was of the
latest make and not generally on the market as yet.
“Here’s a book that tells all about how to run it,” said Bob, catching
sight of a pamphlet of directions.
The boys read the directions over carefully. It seemed simple enough.
All there was to do was to put some gasolene in the tank, see that the
batteries gave a proper current, start the machine off, turn on the
gasolene, switch on the spark and ride off.
“I’ll get the gasolene,” volunteered Ned. He ran over to the drug store
and came back with a can full.
“Now try and see if there’s a good spark,” Jerry suggested.
Satisfied that the batteries were in working order, Jerry prepared to
take his first ride. The street leading from the railroad depot was a
long straight wide one.
“It’s a good thing,” commented Jerry, referring to the highway. “There’s
plenty of chance to be run away with, and not damage anything. I can
ride clear to New York if I go far enough.”
“I wouldn’t this time, though,” said Bob.
Jerry smiled. It was a rather dubious sort of a grin, to be sure. Much
as he wanted a motor-cycle, he knew there was a little risk in riding
one when he was not thoroughly familiar with it. However, he wasn’t
going to back out. He got on the ponderous machine, which Bob and Ned
steadied for him.
“Give me a little shove.”
Bob and Ned did so.
“Work the pedals and get a good start,” advised Bob.
Jerry did so. Soon he was moving off at a fair speed, though, of course,
just as if he was on an ordinary bicycle.
“Turn on the gasolene!” shouted Ned.
“And throw in the spark!” called Bob.
“Here she goes,” Jerry yelled back.
There was a series of sharp explosions, like a machine gun being fired
at top speed, and the motor-cycle, with Jerry aboard, started off.
“Hurrah!” shouted Ned and Bob.
Bang! Bang! Bang! the machine went, and soon Jerry was a quarter of a
mile down the road.
“He ought to shut off the exhaust,” commented Bob. “He can do that on
this machine. On some you can’t.”
The two boys, thinking of nothing but motor-cycles and their chances of
getting them, passed down the road. Jerry was out of sight. In a little
while they espied a cloud of dust down the highway. It seemed to be
moving toward them.
“Here comes Jerry, I guess,” Bob said.
“And he’s moving like the wind!” exclaimed Ned.
In a few minutes the dust cloud was nearer, and then the boys saw that
it was Jerry approaching at a rapid rate. His machine did not make
so much noise now. But, as he came nearer, Bob and Ned, who caught a
glimpse of his face, thought he looked a little worried.
“Hold on! Can’t you stop?” cried Bob, for Jerry was about to pass.
“That’s the trouble!” Jerry yelled as he whizzed past. “I can’t seem to
shut off the power!”
Then he was lost in a cloud of dust, going down the road in the opposite
direction.
“Something’s wrong!” Bob ejaculated.
“He’s forgotten which lever to pull!” exclaimed Ned. “If he don’t look
out there’ll be trouble.”
As he spoke Jerry came flying back.
“Can’t one of you do something?” he cried. “I’m afraid to take my hands
off the bars long enough to pull the levers again, and the last time I
yanked them I seemed to turn on more power. I’ll ride down the road a
way and turn back. Think up something in the meanwhile!”
“He’s in a pickle!” exclaimed Ned.
“I have it!” cried Bob.
“What?”
“The next time he comes past yell at him to ride around in a circle
until we can look in the book of directions on how to run a motor-cycle.”
And so, the next time Jerry whizzed by, with a comical worried look on
his face, Bob yelled:
“Ride around us in a circle, Jerry. Make believe you’re on the track.
Ned and I will look in the book and see how to stop you!”
Jerry obeyed. Around and around he went, the machine kicking up a cloud
of dust. In the centre of the ring stood Bob and Ned, poring over the
pages of the book.
“There it is!” cried Ned, pointing to something on one page.
“What does it say?” asked Bob.
“To stop the machine pull lever A and throw off B toward you three
notches,” read Ned.
“Pull lever A and throw off B toward you three notches!” Bob yelled to
Jerry.
“Which is lever A and which is lever B?” asked Jerry. “They’re not
marked on the machine.”
“That’s so, I forgot that,” admitted Ned.
“What am I going to do?” begged Jerry. “Have I got to ride around like
this all night?”
“What’s in the name of Tunket is the trouble?” asked Mr. Hitter, the
station agent, who was on his way down the road, and who had come to
where Jerry was riding around in a circle with Bob and Ned in the centre.
“He can’t stop!” cried Ned and Bob at once.
“I knowed there’d some trouble come of that machine,” said Mr. Hitter,
shaking his head. “I told you not to monkey with ’em. It all comes of
man trying to improve on nature. Walking’s good enough for me. What
particular form of trouble does the critter seem to be suffering from? I
mean the motor-cycle.”
“There’s two levers,” explained Bob. “One is A and the other is B,
according to the book. The trouble is they are not marked on the
machine, and Jerry don’t know which one to pull.”
“Well, not knowing much about the case, I would advise him to pull ’em
both,” said Mr. Hitter. “He can’t be any worse off than he is now, and
maybe it’ll stop him.”
“Good!” exclaimed Bob. “That’s it. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Why didn’t we?” was all Ned could say.
Then they both shouted to Jerry, who was still pursuing his weary round:
“Move both levers, Jerry!”
Jerry did so. In an instant the motor-cycle ceased the explosions, and,
in a little while it slowed down so that Jerry could dismount.
“Well, that certainly was an experience,” commented Jerry, as he wiped
the dust from his face. “But it was fun all the same,” he added, whereat
Mr. Hitter laughed.
“Boys will be boys,” the station agent muttered as he went off down the
road.
“Funny the machine got such a fit on,” said Ned, examining the
motor-cycle closely. “I didn’t think they would act like that.”
“Here’s the difficulty,” cried Bob, who was also looking over the
apparatus. “This piece of wire ought to have been taken off. It was put
on temporarily when the machine was packed. See, it held the gasolene
lever and the spark one also, so they couldn’t come back separately.
You had to pull them both at once to shut off the flow of fluid and the
current of electricity. It’s a thing that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t
been in such a hurry.”
“Well, it all came out right,” said Jerry. “I’m going to ride the
machine home.”
And he did without further mishap, stopping and starting the motor
without trouble, now that the wire was off.