Historic Article
Rosalind A-Wheel
By Flora Lincoln Comstock
Godey's Magazine, April, 1896, pp. 388—393.
[Fiction]
By Flora Lincoln Comstock
Godey's Magazine, April, 1896, pp. 388—393.
[Fiction]
Taylor's Run
July 9, 1895
My Dear Constance:
Have you ever heard of Taylor's Run? Because if you have not, your education has been sadly neglected. It is a most primitive, delightfully ugly little town of about twenty-five houses and a gathering place for all the men, which they call the hotel. But all this time you are possibly wondering what brings me here. Well, my dear, thereby hangs a tale; it's an old story - a naughty girl, a stern father, and a bicycle.
You know when I left school, last month, I was simply bicycle-mad - had the fever in the very worst way. All the girls were riding, and father said I should not; so I pined and sulked and wept, all to no avail, and then made up my mind to do it anyway.
I was always a harum-scarum sort of a girl, you know, so I took my god-mother's beautiful present, the diamond pin you so much admire, and started one day to find the friendly three gilt bells of "mine uncle." I am very sure the man with a long nose who presided there got the best of me, as I was too unaccustomed to that sort of thing to know what to do. Anyway, I found myself in possession of what seemed to me a huge sum of money.
I cobbled together a suit, then hied myself to the bicycle school, and was soon the happy owner of a beautiful wheel, which I learned to ride before many days, with only a few bruises. Then I was in clover.
Mother never keeps a very close watch over my movements in summer, so I was able to devote lots of time to riding, even going out on one or two runs. Naturally, I knew that I must be found out some time, and I did want to have one real spin out into the country beforehand; a sort of a century run all by myself in search of adventures - Don Quixote on wheels.
I dreamed and thought of it until I quietly made up my mind to put it through. Father would be furious, but I should have my one good bit of fun anyway, and after that - the deluge. So I went out shopping, because - now, don't be shocked, my dear - I had made up my mind to go as a boy. A girl rolling around the country on a wheel by herself would excite too much comment; so I went to one of the big stores and bought things for my brother, and soon I was all fitted out - knickerbockers, golf stockings, sweater, cap, gloves, bicycle shoes, and all. I had to stuff the ends of the shoes with paper, but that made no difference, of course. My length of limb and general slenderness stood me in good stead this time, and I really looked just like a boy, at a casual glance. As for my hair - ah, me! you remember how that was sacrificed in my last illness, from which I am just now fully recovered. You should see it; it has just reached the stage when it is only a curly mop, à la football.
I asked mother if I might pay Mary Singleton a short visit at her country home, and my joy was great when she consented. So imagine me one morning, at an unearthly hour, writing a note to mother saying I had run off to catch an earlier train, and then - then I proceeded to don my boy's clothing, rolled up a few necessaries and left the note at mother's plate, as I stole away before anyone was up. I walked to the bicycle school and, though no one was about, I had the key which let me into the place where they were, so in a short while I had my bundle strapped on and was pedalling out of town at a fine rate.
And now I am free! Very like the Ethel you may remember, who was just as crazy to do exactly what the boys did, at ten years old, as she is now at eighteen. I have always wished that I were a boy, and now I am one for the nonce, anyway.
In case I should get hurt, I carried this little blank book, on the cover of which I have written - "To be given to Constance Careway, at 1196 Schermerhorn Street, Brooklyn" - and if anything happens to me, you will get it. I mean to write my adventures every night, so that you may know all about them, some day.
To resume - I rolled along exultantly, enjoying everything but the cows. I looked askance at them as I put on speed to get by. Finally, about noon, I reached a little hotel, with an appetite for anything. It tickled me immensely to be addressed as "Mister" by the men who sat around, and I nearly disgraced myself at the dinner-table. You should have seen it, Constance: four different kinds of preserves, chicken, ham and and eggs, and vegetables, all put on "most promiscuous." And when my opposite neighbor - the driver of a beer-wagon - arose from his seat and made a dive with his fork toward the other end of the table, settling back again with the slice of bread which he had thus impaled, I nearly laughed in his face, it was so funny. I managed to be "ready for pie" when the girl at my elbow asked that question, and dumped a triangle of it on my plate, which had just done service for dinner. Truly there are ways and ways of doing the same thing - eating, for instance.
I had not gone very far, in the afternoon, before I began to feel most unconscionably sleepy, so spread myself out under a big tree... to rest awhile - and unintentionally fell asleep.
I was aroused by a hand on my shoulder, and a voice which penetrated my drowsy senses as it said, "Wake up here, young fellow. I wouldn't sleep on the highway unless I wanted my wheel stolen by the first thief who came along."
I jumped to my feet and saw three young men, with their bicycles, standing near me. One of them, a tall blonde [sic] with handsome gray eyes, was evidently the one who shook me awake, as he stood by my side while they explained that they came up just in time to prevent a tramp from going off with my wheel. I thanked them, and was soon wheeling along behind the other two, beside my blond friend, whom the others called Darrington. I started when I heard the name, and stole a side glance at him. Yes - no wonder his face had an oddly familiar look. I had seen those clear-cut features before, when I went to lunch one day with Margaret Darrington. It was her brother Vernon, whom I had then seen for the first time. This was the second, and I flushed uncomfortably as I hoped he would not recognize me, seeing that it happened over a year ago. But I could not help wishing I had not such unmistakable eyes. You know the girls used to call them green, at times, and my hair, while short, still had that reddish tinge which might be remembered.
When they asked me to join them I thought it would be fun, but that was before I recognized my neighbors. I looked hard at the others. No - I had certainly never seen them before.
While I was meditating over this and using all my strength to keep up, as they set a faster pace than I was accustomed to, Mr. Darrington suddenly said, "Why do you ride a ladies' wheel? By the way, young fellow, what name are we to call you by?"
I was so taken aback by that double-barrelled sort of question, that I grew scarlet as I stammered that mine was broken and this was my sister's, and - becoming more self-possessed - my name was James Jackson. It did not seem possible that anyone could recognize Ethel Andrews under that homely title. He gave me a very penetrating look out of those deep gray eyes, and made some commonplace remark about the roads, as we drifted into a desultory chat which was kept up intermittently until, with aching muscles on my part, we landed at this place.
I was glad to find my room and lie down for a half-hour, when the sound of a riotous bell warned me that supper must be ready, and I was soon making great inroads into the fried chicken and waffles. Soon after, I was seated on the porch outside with the rest of the men. Note that, my dear, "the rest of the men."
I read an old paper to conceal the fact that I did not join in their cigars and conversation, but soon grew uncomfortable as it progressed in a fashion which was far from refined. Finally, when one man who had been imbibing rather freely added his voice to the rest, I came away upstairs to my room, where I have been ever since writing all this to you. I am afraid Vernon Darrington has his suspicions, for he sat near me on the porch steps in utter silence. Most significant of all, however, was the fact that he moved when the smoke from his pipe blew in my face. Well, I mean to get up very early and slip away first. I don't wish to be recognized, or my fun is
all over. Good-night.
At Home, July 10th.
Well, Connie dear, I am coming to the end of my adventures sooner than I anticipated, but "the best laid plans of mice and men" - you know the rest. I was awakened from a heavy sleep by the most alarming sounds, cries of "fire," banging of doors, and the frantic ringing of what sounded like a church bell. Much alarmed I hastened to get into my unaccustomed clothing, blessing my stars that there were not so many hooks and eyes to fasten as usual. Once downstairs, I saw that everyone was rushing to a house not far away, which was bursting into flames. There was no fire department, of course, but quite near the scene of the fire rippled along a small stream, and the men formed a line from this to the house to facilitate the passage of the buckets of water. Somebody clutched hold of me as soon as I arrived and hustled me into line with a hasty "All hands must help, young man," and I was soon passing up the very heaviest buckets of water. Dear me! I never before realized just how heavy a bucket of water could be.
My arms had almost given out and my strength as well, when a quiet, stern voice back of me said, "This is no place for you; I would advise your going to bed;" and Vernon Darrington swung himself into the line in my stead before I realized what had happened. Much relieved, I started for the hotel, rubbing my aching arms. On the threshold I found a man being carried in who was badly burned, and a woman wailing over him "Will no one go for the doctor?"
Forgetting all my aching bones I hastily sprang forward, saying, "I will if you can tell me just where to find him."
"Two miles up the road, young man, a long white fence with a big gate and a doctor's sign on it."
I rushed for my bicycle and was soon flying along the road, seeing all the time that terribly burned man and hearing his groans. The ground flew from under my wheel, and before I realized that I could be so near I saw the white fence, then the gate with a black sign on the post. Down the driveway I rolled, and banged away at his door. Soon a head popped out of an upper window with a sleepy growl of "What's wanted?"
"The doctor - quick; there's a fire in the town and a man badly hurt."
“All right, I'll go at once. How did you come?"
"On my wheel."
With what sounded like a mild swearing, the head was withdrawn and I started back again. Now that my errand was fairly accomplished, my excitement cooled down and the high tension of my nerves began to relax, leaving me very shaky and nervous. If I hadn't been a boy just then, I should have said I felt like crying; but unwilling to give way to such feminine foolishness, I was pushing along as fast as I could, when, whish! I had struck something sharp enough to puncture a tire, and now I was in a plight. I knew nothing about mending it, even if I had been lucky enough to have the proper equipment with me. This time I could have cried in earnest; but saying to myself "Brace up, Ethel; be a man," I commenced to trudge along, leading my useless machine, and now that I had time to think of such a thing, seeing a man in every shadow, of course.
I was just thinking what a nice thing it must be to know how to whistle, when around the bend of the road came a man, in truth, stopping short as he reached my side; and I heard Vernon Darrington saying, in a voice full of concern;
"At last I have found you. Did you get the doctor? What is the matter?" all in one breath.
I told him the doctor was on his way, and just then the rattle of wheels warned us in time to get out of the road, as a horse and buggy rushed by at full speed. As we scrambled back again, he examined my wheel and, with a smile, said; "Well, that's no use for to-night, anyway. Suppose you ride mine back and let me bring yours in."
But I hastily declined, as I said: "It isn't very far and I would rather walk, thank you."
So, leading his, he kept by my side as he commenced to tell me that the fire had too much headway to be checked, and the house had gone, but that one poor man was the only person injured. Just then I stumbled against a stone and would have fallen, had he not thrown his arm across my shoulders, and steadied me for a moment, saying, with an odd thrill in his voice, “Poor little soul, you are tired to death.”
We trudged along in silence for a while. The full moon was shining in our faces and making things very bright, as I tried to pick my way carefully, lest I should show my extreme weariness by stumbling again. Thoughts of home and my nice, comfortable bed flitted across my mind most inopportunely, coupled with the remembrance of the penalty I should have to pay for this escapade; and I hardly dared conjecture as to my neighbor’s musings, until he suddenly broke the silence - as I sighed and drew a breath that was almost a sob - by saying, “Look here, don’t you think you had better take my arm?”
I forced a laugh that would have a little shake in it, and declined.
"Of course I am tired, because I am unaccustomed to quite so much riding in one day, but not tired enough for that, thank you."
However, it was of no use. He grasped my hand, as it hung by my side, and drew it through his arm, keeping fast hold of it, as he said - again with that odd tone to his voice:
"You have no end of pluck, little girl, but you must take my arm and let me help you along."
Of course I was found out. I knew it all along. But how wise was he?
With all the dignity I could scare up at such short notice, I replied, in my best society manner, "Very well, Mr. Darrington, I will gladly do so; you need not fear my running away," and I extricated my hand from his close clasp.
Then, with a natural desire to know the worst, I plunged into the questions: "How did you know I was not a boy? Do I look so much like a girl? How about your friends; do they know it also?"
With a hearty laugh, he said, "So you give it up, do you? No, I think I am the only one who has recognized the state of affairs, so far. You look your character very well - all but those little white hands - and until I noticed the woman's wheel that you ride, and your confusion over your name, I never mistrusted. Then I took a good look at your face and knew you, of course."
Bound to know the worst, I hastily ejaculated, "Why, 'of course,' when you never saw me before but once?"
"I have seen you many times, Miss Andrews, and" - with a slight pause - "yours is not a face a man finds it easy to forget."
After which pregnant speech, I was silent - mortified to death. To be called "Miss Andrews," and to be masquerading in public in boy's clothes! I saw myself as a man at my side must see me: a romp, an unsexed girl perhaps, an extreme version of the "new woman," which, I seemed to feel, was not at all the kind he admired.
Reading some of my feelings in my face, he said, in a gentle tone:
"Won't you consider me worthy of your confidence? I will do all I can for you," and, as I was still silent, "How was it? Did you run away for a bit of a lark?"
Cheered by his way of regarding it, I braced up, and commenced my tale, forgetting how complete a stranger he was, as I told of my thwarted desires and my final resolution to have one good time on my bicycle, anyway. He was a sympathetic listener, and made it easy to confide in him; but as he heard me to the end, he looked very grave and his mouth was set in a firm line under his fair mustache, when he said, "I suppose you have no idea of carrying this any further. It will give me great pleasure to see you home to-morrow."
He may not have realized how authoritative his voice sounded, but my spirits were rising, and it never was of much use to try to force me to do anything, you know of old, Connie; so I laughed, as I said in an airy way, "Oh, I don't know about that. I have not been out half long enough;" and there was a flash and a challenge in my eyes, as I looked squarely into his and continued, "I never could stand being dictated to, Mr. Darrington, even by those who had a right to do so."
His face grew set and stern, and I give you my word, Con, he pressed my arm so closely to his side, and looked so much as though he would pick me up and carry me off then and there, that I felt the spirit of war rising within me, as he said, in a voice which no one but a born fool would disregard: "No, Miss Andrews, I am sorry to seem disagreeable, but you will have to allow me to see you safe once more under your father's roof. You are an innocent little girl, and have not the least understanding of the dangers you face. I shall take you home to-morrow - peaceably, I hope, but surely, in any event."
I jerked my arm away, like the child he would prove me, and walked in sullen silence, until just before we reached the hotel, when, in a low tone, he said, "Go to bed and sleep as late as you can. I will see to your wheel, and we shall have a pleasant run home, I hope."
As I gave him no answer, he continued, holding me fast by the hand at the deserted front door:
"Try forgive me. Perhaps it may help my case, if you can only guess why and how it is that I know your face by heart."
Which enigmatical speech was the last thought in my mind, as I fell quickly asleep.
The sun was high when I awoke in the morning. I hastily dressed and with some shyness confronted Mr. Darrington, who seemed the sole occupant of the porch. I wickedly wondered if he had been sitting there all night, to see that I did not get away, but kept my reflections discreetly to myself, as we breakfasted together in apparent harmony.
I found my bicycle all right, and we were soon flying along on our way back, confining our conversation strictly to commonplace for a while. Then he ventured to tell me how, after meeting me at Margaret's luncheon, he had tried in vain to cross my path again. But Margaret was abroad, and I was not "out," so he merely caught a glimpse of me when he could.
All of which was balm to my wounded feelings.
We reached the city after dark, and carried out very successfully a little scheme of his planning. Leaving our wheels a few doors below the house, I retreated into the dusk as he rang the bell and asked for mother; and while the maid carried his message, I entered and escaped unseen to my room.
When mother appeared he apologized for his intrusion and, telling her that her daughter Ethel wished to see her upstairs, took his departure.
I will discreetly draw a veil, Connie, over the scene that ensued. I was scolded properly, of course, and was very repentant. Father was out, luckily, so I shall not know my doom until tomorrow. In the meanwhile, Vernon Darrington has my wheel in charge. After all, he is nice and I like him.
July 11th.
I am surrounded by my various belongings, Constance, in all stages of packing, as I finish this tale of wheel and woe. I have been tried and sentenced, but I will not harrow your feelings with the details. My beloved wheel is confiscated, of course, and instead of Narragansett with mother and Irene, I am banished to the farm with Grandmother to repent and wonder if it paid.
Mr. Darrington came in to-day, and I had five minutes with him alone. As I told him my fate, his eyes twinkled, and he announced a queer coincidence; his respite from his arduous labors at the bar is to be spent within a few miles of us, so I shall see him often if I have forgiven him. And with a queer sort of a thrill, as his eyes met mine, I told him I believed I had.
July 9, 1895
My Dear Constance:
Have you ever heard of Taylor's Run? Because if you have not, your education has been sadly neglected. It is a most primitive, delightfully ugly little town of about twenty-five houses and a gathering place for all the men, which they call the hotel. But all this time you are possibly wondering what brings me here. Well, my dear, thereby hangs a tale; it's an old story - a naughty girl, a stern father, and a bicycle.
You know when I left school, last month, I was simply bicycle-mad - had the fever in the very worst way. All the girls were riding, and father said I should not; so I pined and sulked and wept, all to no avail, and then made up my mind to do it anyway.
I was always a harum-scarum sort of a girl, you know, so I took my god-mother's beautiful present, the diamond pin you so much admire, and started one day to find the friendly three gilt bells of "mine uncle." I am very sure the man with a long nose who presided there got the best of me, as I was too unaccustomed to that sort of thing to know what to do. Anyway, I found myself in possession of what seemed to me a huge sum of money.
I cobbled together a suit, then hied myself to the bicycle school, and was soon the happy owner of a beautiful wheel, which I learned to ride before many days, with only a few bruises. Then I was in clover.
Mother never keeps a very close watch over my movements in summer, so I was able to devote lots of time to riding, even going out on one or two runs. Naturally, I knew that I must be found out some time, and I did want to have one real spin out into the country beforehand; a sort of a century run all by myself in search of adventures - Don Quixote on wheels.
I dreamed and thought of it until I quietly made up my mind to put it through. Father would be furious, but I should have my one good bit of fun anyway, and after that - the deluge. So I went out shopping, because - now, don't be shocked, my dear - I had made up my mind to go as a boy. A girl rolling around the country on a wheel by herself would excite too much comment; so I went to one of the big stores and bought things for my brother, and soon I was all fitted out - knickerbockers, golf stockings, sweater, cap, gloves, bicycle shoes, and all. I had to stuff the ends of the shoes with paper, but that made no difference, of course. My length of limb and general slenderness stood me in good stead this time, and I really looked just like a boy, at a casual glance. As for my hair - ah, me! you remember how that was sacrificed in my last illness, from which I am just now fully recovered. You should see it; it has just reached the stage when it is only a curly mop, à la football.
I asked mother if I might pay Mary Singleton a short visit at her country home, and my joy was great when she consented. So imagine me one morning, at an unearthly hour, writing a note to mother saying I had run off to catch an earlier train, and then - then I proceeded to don my boy's clothing, rolled up a few necessaries and left the note at mother's plate, as I stole away before anyone was up. I walked to the bicycle school and, though no one was about, I had the key which let me into the place where they were, so in a short while I had my bundle strapped on and was pedalling out of town at a fine rate.
And now I am free! Very like the Ethel you may remember, who was just as crazy to do exactly what the boys did, at ten years old, as she is now at eighteen. I have always wished that I were a boy, and now I am one for the nonce, anyway.
In case I should get hurt, I carried this little blank book, on the cover of which I have written - "To be given to Constance Careway, at 1196 Schermerhorn Street, Brooklyn" - and if anything happens to me, you will get it. I mean to write my adventures every night, so that you may know all about them, some day.
To resume - I rolled along exultantly, enjoying everything but the cows. I looked askance at them as I put on speed to get by. Finally, about noon, I reached a little hotel, with an appetite for anything. It tickled me immensely to be addressed as "Mister" by the men who sat around, and I nearly disgraced myself at the dinner-table. You should have seen it, Constance: four different kinds of preserves, chicken, ham and and eggs, and vegetables, all put on "most promiscuous." And when my opposite neighbor - the driver of a beer-wagon - arose from his seat and made a dive with his fork toward the other end of the table, settling back again with the slice of bread which he had thus impaled, I nearly laughed in his face, it was so funny. I managed to be "ready for pie" when the girl at my elbow asked that question, and dumped a triangle of it on my plate, which had just done service for dinner. Truly there are ways and ways of doing the same thing - eating, for instance.
I had not gone very far, in the afternoon, before I began to feel most unconscionably sleepy, so spread myself out under a big tree... to rest awhile - and unintentionally fell asleep.
I was aroused by a hand on my shoulder, and a voice which penetrated my drowsy senses as it said, "Wake up here, young fellow. I wouldn't sleep on the highway unless I wanted my wheel stolen by the first thief who came along."
I jumped to my feet and saw three young men, with their bicycles, standing near me. One of them, a tall blonde [sic] with handsome gray eyes, was evidently the one who shook me awake, as he stood by my side while they explained that they came up just in time to prevent a tramp from going off with my wheel. I thanked them, and was soon wheeling along behind the other two, beside my blond friend, whom the others called Darrington. I started when I heard the name, and stole a side glance at him. Yes - no wonder his face had an oddly familiar look. I had seen those clear-cut features before, when I went to lunch one day with Margaret Darrington. It was her brother Vernon, whom I had then seen for the first time. This was the second, and I flushed uncomfortably as I hoped he would not recognize me, seeing that it happened over a year ago. But I could not help wishing I had not such unmistakable eyes. You know the girls used to call them green, at times, and my hair, while short, still had that reddish tinge which might be remembered.
When they asked me to join them I thought it would be fun, but that was before I recognized my neighbors. I looked hard at the others. No - I had certainly never seen them before.
While I was meditating over this and using all my strength to keep up, as they set a faster pace than I was accustomed to, Mr. Darrington suddenly said, "Why do you ride a ladies' wheel? By the way, young fellow, what name are we to call you by?"
I was so taken aback by that double-barrelled sort of question, that I grew scarlet as I stammered that mine was broken and this was my sister's, and - becoming more self-possessed - my name was James Jackson. It did not seem possible that anyone could recognize Ethel Andrews under that homely title. He gave me a very penetrating look out of those deep gray eyes, and made some commonplace remark about the roads, as we drifted into a desultory chat which was kept up intermittently until, with aching muscles on my part, we landed at this place.
I was glad to find my room and lie down for a half-hour, when the sound of a riotous bell warned me that supper must be ready, and I was soon making great inroads into the fried chicken and waffles. Soon after, I was seated on the porch outside with the rest of the men. Note that, my dear, "the rest of the men."
I read an old paper to conceal the fact that I did not join in their cigars and conversation, but soon grew uncomfortable as it progressed in a fashion which was far from refined. Finally, when one man who had been imbibing rather freely added his voice to the rest, I came away upstairs to my room, where I have been ever since writing all this to you. I am afraid Vernon Darrington has his suspicions, for he sat near me on the porch steps in utter silence. Most significant of all, however, was the fact that he moved when the smoke from his pipe blew in my face. Well, I mean to get up very early and slip away first. I don't wish to be recognized, or my fun is
all over. Good-night.
At Home, July 10th.
Well, Connie dear, I am coming to the end of my adventures sooner than I anticipated, but "the best laid plans of mice and men" - you know the rest. I was awakened from a heavy sleep by the most alarming sounds, cries of "fire," banging of doors, and the frantic ringing of what sounded like a church bell. Much alarmed I hastened to get into my unaccustomed clothing, blessing my stars that there were not so many hooks and eyes to fasten as usual. Once downstairs, I saw that everyone was rushing to a house not far away, which was bursting into flames. There was no fire department, of course, but quite near the scene of the fire rippled along a small stream, and the men formed a line from this to the house to facilitate the passage of the buckets of water. Somebody clutched hold of me as soon as I arrived and hustled me into line with a hasty "All hands must help, young man," and I was soon passing up the very heaviest buckets of water. Dear me! I never before realized just how heavy a bucket of water could be.
My arms had almost given out and my strength as well, when a quiet, stern voice back of me said, "This is no place for you; I would advise your going to bed;" and Vernon Darrington swung himself into the line in my stead before I realized what had happened. Much relieved, I started for the hotel, rubbing my aching arms. On the threshold I found a man being carried in who was badly burned, and a woman wailing over him "Will no one go for the doctor?"
Forgetting all my aching bones I hastily sprang forward, saying, "I will if you can tell me just where to find him."
"Two miles up the road, young man, a long white fence with a big gate and a doctor's sign on it."
I rushed for my bicycle and was soon flying along the road, seeing all the time that terribly burned man and hearing his groans. The ground flew from under my wheel, and before I realized that I could be so near I saw the white fence, then the gate with a black sign on the post. Down the driveway I rolled, and banged away at his door. Soon a head popped out of an upper window with a sleepy growl of "What's wanted?"
"The doctor - quick; there's a fire in the town and a man badly hurt."
“All right, I'll go at once. How did you come?"
"On my wheel."
With what sounded like a mild swearing, the head was withdrawn and I started back again. Now that my errand was fairly accomplished, my excitement cooled down and the high tension of my nerves began to relax, leaving me very shaky and nervous. If I hadn't been a boy just then, I should have said I felt like crying; but unwilling to give way to such feminine foolishness, I was pushing along as fast as I could, when, whish! I had struck something sharp enough to puncture a tire, and now I was in a plight. I knew nothing about mending it, even if I had been lucky enough to have the proper equipment with me. This time I could have cried in earnest; but saying to myself "Brace up, Ethel; be a man," I commenced to trudge along, leading my useless machine, and now that I had time to think of such a thing, seeing a man in every shadow, of course.
I was just thinking what a nice thing it must be to know how to whistle, when around the bend of the road came a man, in truth, stopping short as he reached my side; and I heard Vernon Darrington saying, in a voice full of concern;
"At last I have found you. Did you get the doctor? What is the matter?" all in one breath.
I told him the doctor was on his way, and just then the rattle of wheels warned us in time to get out of the road, as a horse and buggy rushed by at full speed. As we scrambled back again, he examined my wheel and, with a smile, said; "Well, that's no use for to-night, anyway. Suppose you ride mine back and let me bring yours in."
But I hastily declined, as I said: "It isn't very far and I would rather walk, thank you."
So, leading his, he kept by my side as he commenced to tell me that the fire had too much headway to be checked, and the house had gone, but that one poor man was the only person injured. Just then I stumbled against a stone and would have fallen, had he not thrown his arm across my shoulders, and steadied me for a moment, saying, with an odd thrill in his voice, “Poor little soul, you are tired to death.”
We trudged along in silence for a while. The full moon was shining in our faces and making things very bright, as I tried to pick my way carefully, lest I should show my extreme weariness by stumbling again. Thoughts of home and my nice, comfortable bed flitted across my mind most inopportunely, coupled with the remembrance of the penalty I should have to pay for this escapade; and I hardly dared conjecture as to my neighbor’s musings, until he suddenly broke the silence - as I sighed and drew a breath that was almost a sob - by saying, “Look here, don’t you think you had better take my arm?”
I forced a laugh that would have a little shake in it, and declined.
"Of course I am tired, because I am unaccustomed to quite so much riding in one day, but not tired enough for that, thank you."
However, it was of no use. He grasped my hand, as it hung by my side, and drew it through his arm, keeping fast hold of it, as he said - again with that odd tone to his voice:
"You have no end of pluck, little girl, but you must take my arm and let me help you along."
Of course I was found out. I knew it all along. But how wise was he?
With all the dignity I could scare up at such short notice, I replied, in my best society manner, "Very well, Mr. Darrington, I will gladly do so; you need not fear my running away," and I extricated my hand from his close clasp.
Then, with a natural desire to know the worst, I plunged into the questions: "How did you know I was not a boy? Do I look so much like a girl? How about your friends; do they know it also?"
With a hearty laugh, he said, "So you give it up, do you? No, I think I am the only one who has recognized the state of affairs, so far. You look your character very well - all but those little white hands - and until I noticed the woman's wheel that you ride, and your confusion over your name, I never mistrusted. Then I took a good look at your face and knew you, of course."
Bound to know the worst, I hastily ejaculated, "Why, 'of course,' when you never saw me before but once?"
"I have seen you many times, Miss Andrews, and" - with a slight pause - "yours is not a face a man finds it easy to forget."
After which pregnant speech, I was silent - mortified to death. To be called "Miss Andrews," and to be masquerading in public in boy's clothes! I saw myself as a man at my side must see me: a romp, an unsexed girl perhaps, an extreme version of the "new woman," which, I seemed to feel, was not at all the kind he admired.
Reading some of my feelings in my face, he said, in a gentle tone:
"Won't you consider me worthy of your confidence? I will do all I can for you," and, as I was still silent, "How was it? Did you run away for a bit of a lark?"
Cheered by his way of regarding it, I braced up, and commenced my tale, forgetting how complete a stranger he was, as I told of my thwarted desires and my final resolution to have one good time on my bicycle, anyway. He was a sympathetic listener, and made it easy to confide in him; but as he heard me to the end, he looked very grave and his mouth was set in a firm line under his fair mustache, when he said, "I suppose you have no idea of carrying this any further. It will give me great pleasure to see you home to-morrow."
He may not have realized how authoritative his voice sounded, but my spirits were rising, and it never was of much use to try to force me to do anything, you know of old, Connie; so I laughed, as I said in an airy way, "Oh, I don't know about that. I have not been out half long enough;" and there was a flash and a challenge in my eyes, as I looked squarely into his and continued, "I never could stand being dictated to, Mr. Darrington, even by those who had a right to do so."
His face grew set and stern, and I give you my word, Con, he pressed my arm so closely to his side, and looked so much as though he would pick me up and carry me off then and there, that I felt the spirit of war rising within me, as he said, in a voice which no one but a born fool would disregard: "No, Miss Andrews, I am sorry to seem disagreeable, but you will have to allow me to see you safe once more under your father's roof. You are an innocent little girl, and have not the least understanding of the dangers you face. I shall take you home to-morrow - peaceably, I hope, but surely, in any event."
I jerked my arm away, like the child he would prove me, and walked in sullen silence, until just before we reached the hotel, when, in a low tone, he said, "Go to bed and sleep as late as you can. I will see to your wheel, and we shall have a pleasant run home, I hope."
As I gave him no answer, he continued, holding me fast by the hand at the deserted front door:
"Try forgive me. Perhaps it may help my case, if you can only guess why and how it is that I know your face by heart."
Which enigmatical speech was the last thought in my mind, as I fell quickly asleep.
The sun was high when I awoke in the morning. I hastily dressed and with some shyness confronted Mr. Darrington, who seemed the sole occupant of the porch. I wickedly wondered if he had been sitting there all night, to see that I did not get away, but kept my reflections discreetly to myself, as we breakfasted together in apparent harmony.
I found my bicycle all right, and we were soon flying along on our way back, confining our conversation strictly to commonplace for a while. Then he ventured to tell me how, after meeting me at Margaret's luncheon, he had tried in vain to cross my path again. But Margaret was abroad, and I was not "out," so he merely caught a glimpse of me when he could.
All of which was balm to my wounded feelings.
We reached the city after dark, and carried out very successfully a little scheme of his planning. Leaving our wheels a few doors below the house, I retreated into the dusk as he rang the bell and asked for mother; and while the maid carried his message, I entered and escaped unseen to my room.
When mother appeared he apologized for his intrusion and, telling her that her daughter Ethel wished to see her upstairs, took his departure.
I will discreetly draw a veil, Connie, over the scene that ensued. I was scolded properly, of course, and was very repentant. Father was out, luckily, so I shall not know my doom until tomorrow. In the meanwhile, Vernon Darrington has my wheel in charge. After all, he is nice and I like him.
July 11th.
I am surrounded by my various belongings, Constance, in all stages of packing, as I finish this tale of wheel and woe. I have been tried and sentenced, but I will not harrow your feelings with the details. My beloved wheel is confiscated, of course, and instead of Narragansett with mother and Irene, I am banished to the farm with Grandmother to repent and wonder if it paid.
Mr. Darrington came in to-day, and I had five minutes with him alone. As I told him my fate, his eyes twinkled, and he announced a queer coincidence; his respite from his arduous labors at the bar is to be spent within a few miles of us, so I shall see him often if I have forgiven him. And with a queer sort of a thrill, as his eyes met mine, I told him I believed I had.
Other historic cycling articles:
A Burglar, A Bicycle, and A Storm (Fiction—1896)
A Cycle of the Seasons: A Bicycle Romance in Four Meets (Fiction—1883)
A Cycle Show in Little (1896)
A Header (?) (Poem—1883)
A Modern Love Sung in Ancient Fashion (Poem—1884)
Bicycling and Tricycling (1884)
Cycling for Women (1888)
Cycling's Value As An Exercise (1879)
Is Bicycling Harmful? (1896)
The Evolution of a Sport (1897)
Foreign [Bicycling News] (1884)
'Neath the Magnolias (Poem—1883)
On Wings of Love (Poem—1884)
Rosalind A Wheel (Fiction—1896)
Snakes in his Wheel (1895)
The Work of Wheelmen for Better Roads (1896)
Woman's Cycle (1896)
Back to Historical Articles Index
An article about us in Bicycling magazine:
"How To Bike Like A Victorian"
http://www.bicycling.com/culture/people/old-doesn-t-mean-bad-modern-conversation-victorian-era-cyclists
A few of Sarah's accounts of our Victorian cycling adventures:
The Flower Fields of the Skagit Valley:
http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/blog/my-recent-trip-to-the-skagit-valley
A Trip to A Lavender Festival:
http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/blog/sneak-peek-into-a-future-book
The Tricycle's Maiden Voyage:
http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/blog/the-tricycles-maiden-voyage
The Chilly Hilly ride:
http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/blog/chilly-hilly
Port Townsend to Port Gamble:
http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/blog/port-gamble-wa
Sarah ALWAYS wears a corset—even while cycling. Here's an excerpt from her book about it:
http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/blog/cycling-in-a-corset-a-short-excerpt-from-victorian-secrets
Rebuttal of an erroneous article:
http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/blog/a-rebuttal-to-a-recent-article
In a seaport town in the late 19th-century Pacific Northwest, a group of friends find themselves drawn together —by chance, by love, and by the marvelous changes their world is undergoing. In the process, they learn that the family we choose can be just as important as the ones we're born into. Join their adventures in
The Tales of Chetzemoka
To read about the exhaustive research that goes into each book and see little vignettes from the stories, click on their "Learn More" buttons!
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