“I—I don’t think I am,” was the slow reply, as the acrobatic youth climbed out of the brushwood. “Gosh! but that was a header, wasn’t it?”
“How did it happen?” asked Pepper, who had gone ahead and now came back.
“I got in a rut and that threw me against yonder rock. I suppose I can be thankful that I didn’t break my neck.”
“The front wheel is done for,” said Jack, examining the bicycle. “The spokes and the rim are both smashed.”
“Then I reckon I’ll have to walk home,” said Andy, ruefully. “I reckon the old saying is true, ‘The more haste the less speed.’”
“We can take turns at carrying you,” said Jack. “One can carry you and the other the broken wheel.”
“Can you do it—on such a road as this?”
“We can try it, anyway.”
Andy got on the rear of Pepper’s bicycle and went on ahead, and Jack placed the broken wheel on his shoulder and followed on his own machine. Progress was slow, and long before the Hall was reached it was dark.
“Let us rest awhile,” said Pepper. “This is hard work.”