Thereafter Wealth drove home in a cab, and Poverty went to bed in her rags.
Chapter Seven.
Bicycling and its Occasional Results.
It is pleasant to turn from the smoke and turmoil of the city to the fresh air and quiet of the country.
To the man who spends most of his time in the heart of London, going into the country—even for a short distance—is like passing into the fields of Elysium. This was, at all events, the opinion of Stephen Welland; and Stephen must have been a good judge, for he tried the change frequently, being exceedingly fond of bicycling, and occasionally taking what he termed long spins on that remarkable instrument.
One morning, early in the summer-time, young Welland, (he was only eighteen), mounted his iron horse in the neighbourhood of Kensington, and glided away at a leisurely pace through the crowded streets. Arrived in the suburbs of London he got up steam, to use his own phrase, and went at a rapid pace until he met a “chum,” by appointment. This chum was also mounted on a bicycle, and was none other than our friend Samuel Twitter, Junior—known at home as Sammy, and by his companions as Sam.
“Isn’t it a glorious day, Sam?” said Welland as he rode up and sprang off his steed.
“Magnificent!” answered his friend, also dismounting and shaking hands. “Why, Stephen, what an enormous machine you ride!”