Although Roy Sheldon and his friends were greatly relieved, and felt duly thankful to the reporter who had concealed the "plucky wheelman's" identity under a fictitious name, and thus prevented their trip from being brought to a sudden end, they were none the less impatient to take the road again, and their two days of enforced inactivity hung heavily on their hands. It would not be prudent for them to call upon their friends in the city, for, as Roy ruefully affirmed, they would have to tell them the truth, and they might as well go home as to do that. Concealment was the only thing left to them, but reading and sleeping, with an occasional discussion of their recent experience, were monotonous ways for healthy boys to pass the time. Roy's bruises demanded a little of their care and attention, and before long he had the satisfaction of knowing
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 that his arm was not as lame as it had been, and that his eyes were slowly resuming their natural color. But it was two weeks before the wondering rustics ceased to turn and gaze after him as he wheeled swiftly along the road.
Saturday morning came at last, and after a light breakfast the three Columbias were brought from their dark closet and set in motion again. Of course we—that is, my two companions and I—knew nothing of the strange things that had taken place on the night we were put into our closet for safe-keeping, and we were on the road at least a week before we heard as much of the story as I have already told you. We were fully two hundred miles from New London when we, most unexpectedly, heard more of it, and back in Mount Airy when we heard the conclusion; so you see I am not yet through with the events that grew out of Roy Sheldon's visit to the city.
Saturday's run was short, for my master insisted that the doctor's orders should be implicitly obeyed, but still it was a hard one. Before they were fairly out of the city limits the sand that was "knee-deep" obstructed
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 their way, and made the young wheelmen cast longing glances toward the tow-path which was in plain view. But the sight of several groups of ragged urchins, some of whom tried hard and perseveringly to get a stone up to them, and the knowledge that one of their number was in no condition for a fight, if one was forced upon them, made them keep to the highway.
"But I tell you we'll not do it on Monday for all the canalers in the State," said Roy that night, when he and his companions dismounted before the little inn that was to be their stopping place. "We are so far out of the city now that we shall not see very many boats, and as often as we come in sight of a settlement of shanties, we'll climb up to the road and go around it."
The proprietor of the inn said he was used to the company of wheelmen, and the bountiful supper he set before the boys proved that he was. He gave them comfortable beds too, and on Monday morning showed them a path by which they could take their wheels down to the bank of the canal. It was much easier rid
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ing there than it was on the highway, but, as the Omaha wheelman said, they found the "unspeakable mule" there. They met a good many boats going into the city, and nearly every one of them was towed by a span of these interesting creatures. The boys dismounted and got out of the way as often as they saw them coming, but the mules were not to be deceived or cheated out of a stampede by any such shallow artifice as that. They saw the glittering wheels, and that was enough for them. They invariably turned like a flash and tore back along the path as though they were frightened out of their wits, but always stopped their headlong flight just in time to avoid being jerked into the canal. It seemed to me that reasonable persons would have been satisfied with the precautions taken by the boys to avoid trouble, but I soon learned that the boatmen were not reasonable. They swore lustily, hurling their oaths at mules and cyclists with perfect impartiality, and now and then a very angry captain would order his steersman to "hold her clost in to the bank so't he could jump ashore an' pitch them
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 nuisances into the drink"; but when the boys heard such talk as that they mounted and sped lightly along, leaving the captain to recover his good-nature as soon as he got ready, and the driver to manage the mules in anyway he could. By following this course, and by making a flank movement on every "settlement of shanties" that hove in sight, they finally reached Bloomingdale without doing very much riding in the sand.
They were now about a hundred and forty miles from home, and considered their journey fairly begun. Leaving out their first night in New London, they were more than pleased with their experience. Their health was perfect, their brains, to quote from Roy Sheldon, were "as clear as whistles," and they felt equal to any amount of hard work either on the road or at the table. Taking timid women, skittish horses, foolish mules, peppery canal-boat captains, combative boys and ugly dogs into consideration, a trip like this had just enough of the exciting and perilous in it to make it interesting.
Although my master and his chums longed
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 to hear from home, they opened the letters they found waiting for them in Bloomingdale with some fear and trembling. As I looked at it, it did not seem possible that adventures like Roy Sheldon's, and an exploit such as he had performed, could be kept covered up for any length of time (I have been told that such things have a way of "leaking out somewhere"), nor was it at all probable that every one who heard of them would be as considerate of Roy's wishes as the Tribune reporter had shown himself to be. I awaited the result with as much excitement as Roy Sheldon exhibited when he seated himself on the porch in front of the hotel and opened one of his mother's letters—the one that bore the latest date. I saw him run his eyes over the closely written pages, and when he laid that letter aside and picked up another, intending to read them in the order in which they were written, I knew before he said a word that his fears were groundless and that no return orders had been received.
"My folks don't suspect anything; how is it with yours?" said he, gleefully. "Mother
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 doesn't say a word about Peter Smith who was shanghaied and jumped overboard to escape being carried to sea, and that's all the evidence I want that she does not think I am that identical Peter."
Thanks to the thoughtful reporter, who did not want Roy to be called home although he did want all the news the boy had it in his power to give him, the truth was never suspected, and after a short rest the young wheelmen turned their backs upon the tow-path and the pugnacious youngsters who lived beside it, and struck out again, this time running through a fine farming country, with just enough timber along the road to break the monotony of the scenery, and afford them shade as often as they felt inclined to take a breathing spell. They were not the only cyclists on the road, as they found before they had left Bloomingdale a dozen miles behind. They were wheeling along in Indian file at a moderate pace, when Joe Wayring, who brought up the rear, was surprised to hear a voice close to him say:
"If you have a mind to listen to it, I believe I can give you young gentlemen a word of
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 advice that may some day be of use to you." And before Joe could turn his head, a tall stranger on a big wheel rode up beside him. "Where have you come from and where are you going, if it is a fair question?" he continued, after returning Joe's greeting. "I judge from your bundles that you are on a trip; but I guess you haven't been out very long, or else you followed a different route from mine, for you are not half as dirty as I am."
This broke the ice, and in a few minutes the boys were on the best of terms with the strange wheelman, who could not, however, give them any "pointers" regarding their route, for he was going another way, and besides he was depending entirely upon his road-book. He had been out four weeks, but was on the way home now, weighed twenty pounds more than he did when he set out, and felt strong enough to tackle any dinner that was set before him. My master expressed his regrets because the stranger was not going their way, and asked him what that word of advice was he said he could give them.
"You wobble too much," said the wheel
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man, coming to the point at once. "I have been following behind for the last mile or so, and took notice of the fact that an eighteen inch plank would scarcely be wide enough to cover your tracks."
"I've noticed that too," replied Roy, "but never thought it worth while to take the trouble to ride any differently. What's the odds so long as one has the whole road to wobble in?"
"None whatever," said the stranger, with a laugh, "only experts who come on your track will think you are not at all careful as to your style, or else they will put you down as new hands at the business. But suppose you should come to a railroad bridge with only a single plank laid down for one to walk upon. If you tried to run over it you would go off sure; and it would be a job to dismount and carry your wheels. Besides, when you got home you wouldn't like to confess that you had done such a thing."
"But you see we haven't found any bridges of that sort in our way yet, and we don't mean to," replied Joe. "Our plan is to follow the road and keep clear of the tracks."
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"That's the resolve I made when I set out, but I haven't held to it. I am pretty well satisfied now that you are not very far from home."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because you don't seem to care anything for distance; but wait until you have been in the saddle a week at a stretch, and you will be glad to cut off all the miles you can. You will find that the railroad generally follows the shortest route between two points, and if you have made up your minds to stop for the night at a certain place, you will want to get there the easiest way you can. That's the time you will probably take to the track and find some of the bridges I spoke of a minute ago."
The boys traveled several miles in company with the pleasant stranger who, to quote once more from Roy Sheldon, "was just chuck full of good stories and advice," and it was with much regret that they took leave of him, saw him turn off from their route and continue his journey alone. How often it happens that little things bring about great events! You shall presently see what grew out of this short in
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terview which happened by the merest accident.
"From this day forward I mend my style of riding," said Joe Wayring, when their chance companion had been left out of sight. "I never knew before that a wheelman left traces by which an expert could judge of his skill, but I know it now, and by this time next week I bet you I'll be steady enough to ride a six-inch plank on top of the highest railroad bridge in the country."
The others said the same, and from that moment began exercising more care in the management of their wheels. If that stranger could have come up behind them now, he would not have seen so many zig-zag tracks in the road. But no doubt he would have laughed at them for so quickly forgetting their resolve to "stick to the highway and steer clear of the railroad tracks"; for that was just what they did. Before a week had passed over their heads they began to realize that it required a good many motions with the pedals to take them a day's journey, and bring them to the place at which they had beforehand de
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cided to pass the night, that there was a good deal of sameness in wheeling, in spite of the new scenes and new faces that were constantly coming before them, and they were not so very long in learning by actual test that "the railroad usually follows the shortest route between two points." But, strange to say, they encountered but few cattle-guards, no bridges or trestle-works, and the culverts were so well covered that they scarcely knew when they passed over them. Except when following these short cuts they adhered rigidly to the instructions laid down in their road-book, but one day even that guide, which ought to have been infallible, led them astray; and here is............