I only heard of it after, and then I was well-nigh skeered—
For roasting that day seemed certain, and I thought of the skin on my nose;
I thought of the Bank in the City, the books I had to close.
We pedalled away in the heat, sir; the “Wells” was the goal in view,
And never a one but doubted if the riders could live it through.
Our Tricycles stood it bravely, and thirsty and hot and weak,
We drew in sight of the hopfields we had dared so much to seek;
And then we rested and turned, and homeward again we faced,
When one machine collapsed, sir, as down a hill we raced!
That was an awful moment, and the stoutest held his breath,