“I wish I’d walked with them,” said Dig.
“Pity you didn’t,” growled Arthur, “you aren’t very lively company.”
“Anyhow, I’ve done my share of the fag. You and Marky may bring the beast home.”
This altercation might have proceeded to painful lengths, had not a diversion occurred in their arrival at the crest of the hill.
Any ordinary traveller would have stood and admired the beautiful view—the finest, it was said, in the county. But Arthur and Dig were in no humour for artistic raptures. The sight of the abbey towers peeping cut in the valley among the trees, and of the silver river which curled past it, suggested to them no thoughts of historic grandeur—no meditations on the pathetic beauty of ruin. It made them smell oysters and hear the popping of lemonade corks, and reminded them they had still two long miles to go before lunch.
“Get on, sharp,” said Arthur, climbing into his saddle, “it won’t take us long to go down the hill.”
It didn’t! They did the distance, a mile and a half, in about three minutes. The brake came to grief the moment they started, and they had nothing for it but to hold on and let her fly. As to attempting to control the speed with their feet, they were thankful enough to get those members up on the rest out of reach of the treadles, which plunged up and down like the pistons of a steam-engine. Luckily there was nothing on the road; luckily, too, the ruts which had broken the ground on the other side were for the most part absent on this. Once or twice the machine lurched ominously, and they thought all was up, and once or twice a stone or obstacle ahead promised to terminate finally their headlong career. But the gallant tandem cleared them all, and her passengers clutched on to their handles like grim death; and between them they did the distance in some seconds under the record, and ran a clean half-mile on the level at the foot of the hill before they could bring one of the most famous runs of the season to a standstill. Thanks to this rapid performance they were only about a quarter of an hour after the pedestrians at the abbey.
“Well, here you are,” said Railsford; “you came by Grassen, I suppose? Rather rough riding, wasn’t it?”
“We came by Maiden Hill after all,” said Arthur. “It was rather rough.”
“Did you walk down, then?”