"
"Let's try his mount first, Grimmy." Rogers wheeled out the machine and,
after hopping twenty yards, "found" the saddle. To mount it was one
thing, to ride it was evidently a matter of liberal education beyond the
attainments of a junior Amorian, for, as Rogers attempted a modest sweep
round, the machine collapsed, and he was sprawling on his back, the
bicycle rattling about his ears. Then--it seemed automatically to the
gasping Amorians--a sturdy youth rushed out of the inn flourishing a
half-emptied glass of beer in one hand, and he seized the struggling
Rogers by the scruff of the neck with the other. Rogers was
unceremoniously jerked to his feet before he quite realized what it was
all about. One or two men lounged out of the inn, and surveyed the scene
dispassionately, and the landlord pushed his way forward.
"Wot's the matter?"
"Matter!" gasped the youth, tightening his hold on Rogers' collar and
waving his glass dramatically.
"This young shaver was going to nick my bike. I seen him."
"I wasn't, you fool----" began Rogers, who did not like the man's
knuckles in his neck.
"Fool am I, you little ugly thief? Worn't you a-scorchin' down the road
w'it? I see you."
The other Amorians curled up with laughter at the way things were mixing
up, and at the last exquisite joke.
"Jove, Rogers, to think you meant to steal it!" burbled Poulett.
"Leave loose of my collar, you idiot," said Rogers, squirming in the
man's grasp; "I tell you it's all a mistake.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110