"May I?" returned Matt, as though he thought the major's invitation too good to be true.
"Sure!" laughed the major jovially. "She's full of gasoline and all you have to do is to turn it on and throw in the spark."
Matt mounted while Mike steadied the machine; for a few moments he worked the pedals and then, with a patter of sharp explosions, he turned on the power and was off up the road like a bird on the wing.
It was a short spin, but the joy of it was not to be described. Every part of the superb mechanism worked to perfection. Matt tried it on the turns, tried it on a straightaway course, tried it in every conceivable manner he could think of, and the machine answered promptly and smoothly to his every touch. When he returned to the major and Mike, Matt's face was glowing with happiness and excitement.
"How does she run?" asked the major.
"It's the slickest thing on wheels!" returned Matt enthusiastically. "I never saw anything finer."
"How would you like to own her?"
Matt had got down from the saddle and Mike was steadying the machine. The major's words staggered the lad.
"Own her?" cried Matt; "I?"
"Why not?" The major leaned toward him and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "The Comet goes to the winner of the bicycle-race. You can own her, King, if you want to!"