mething at the bottom--wild beasts' show,
I think! Stop! hold on!"

But Sam Twitter shouted in vain. Welland's was a joyous spirit, apt to
run away with him. He placed his legs over the handles for security,
and allowed the machine to run. It gathered speed as it went, for the
hill became steeper, insomuch that the rider once or twice felt the
hind-wheel rise, and had to lean well back to keep it on the ground.
The pace began to exceed even Welland's idea of pleasure, but now it was
too late to use the brake, for well did he know that on such a slope and
going at such a pace the slightest check on the front wheel would send
him over. He did not feel alarmed however, for he was now near the
bottom of the hill, and half a minute more would send him in safety on
the level road at the foot.

But just at the foot there was a sharpish turn in the road, and Welland
looked at it earnestly. At an ordinary pace such a turn could have been
easily taken, but at such a rate as he had by that time attained, he
felt it would require a tremendous lean over to accomplish it. Still he
lost no confidence, for he was an athlete by practice if not by
profession, and he gathered up his energies for the moment of action.

The people of the caravan--whoever they were--had seen him coming, and,
beginning to realise his danger to some extent, had hastily cleared the
road to let him pass.

Welland considered the rate of speed; felt, rather than calculated, the
angle of inclination; leaned over boldly until the tire almost slipped
sideways on the road, and came rushing round with a magnificent sweep,
when, horrible sight! a slight ridge of what is called road-metal
crossed the entire road from side to side! A drain or water pipe had
recently been repaired, and the new ridge had not yet been worn down by
traffic. There was no time for thought or change of action. Another
moment and the wheel was upon it, the crash came, and the rider went off
with such force that he was shot well in advance of the machine, as it
went with tremendous violence into the ditch. If Welland's feet had
been on the treadles he must have turned a complete somersault. As it
was he alighted on his feet, but came to the ground with such force that
he failed to save himself. One frantic effort he made and then went
down headlong and rolled over on his back in a state of insensibility.

When Sam Twitter came to the bottom of the hill with the brake well
applied