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Updated: May 18, 2025
There would be comparative safety, save that he might be badly cut and bruised by the motor-cycle falling on top of him. On and on he sped. True to the rail he held the front wheel. He was at the height of his speed now, and every second added to his safety, for the faster he went the nearer true to a straight line could he hold the machine. "Almost over," thought Joe.
As it was, the enemy had succeeded in capturing only a broken motor-cycle and a wounded, unimportant officer. The division staff would soon discover by telephoning that General Lawrence had not received his orders and then repeat the message. Esher managed to turn his head, and watched the Japanese officer copying an order by the light of a bicycle lamp.
Ferd was mounted on a new motor-cycle, purchased with savings out of his pocket money, and with which machine he had been of late scouring the surrounding country. Evidently the little motor had broken down while he was some distance away from home, necessitating considerable walking up hill and hard pedalling on the levels.
Ten miles is a mere "flea-bite," as Bluff Masters said, when a good, lively motor-cycle "takes the bit in its teeth," and it seemed as though they had hardly more than got well started before the junction was reached, where Jerry swung ahead, and the rest trailed after him.
I cannot say that I slept. The ground was hard, and it got very cold about 2 A.M. I could hear the sergeant-major snoring comfortably on the straw palliasse he had managed to "commandeer" for himself. At about 3 A.M. my ear caught the "chug-chug" of a motor-cycle. It came nearer and then stopped, and I heard the rider and our sentry talking.
He withdrew into a far corner, taking his motor-cycle with him, and then, sitting on a block of wood, under the rough mangers where the horses were fed while the farmers attended church, the lad thought over the situation. He could make little of it, and the more he tried the worse it seemed to become. He looked out across the wet landscape. "I wonder if this is ever going to stop?" he mused.
"Aw, go on!" was all the retort the squint-eyed one could think of to make. "I am going on," replied our hero. "Just to show you that I can go down hill, watch me." He turned his motor-cycle, and approached Andy's stalled car, for Tom was some distance in advance of it, up the slope by this time.
I had just finished showing an Intelligence Officer how to get a belt back on to the pulley of his motor-cycle when Cecil met me and told me we were to move north that evening. We had a delectable little tea, bought a map or two, and then strolled back to the barracks. Indeed it was our boast that such was our ingenuity we were able to carry more kit than any regimental officer.
Jack enjoyed every moment of it as he rode the trail. "It certainly is a great life!" he reflected. "I'm glad the way is so rough, otherwise they'd be wanting me to use a motor-cycle or an automobile. But none of them for me, while I have you, Sunger!" The pony whinnied his answer, as Jack patted him on the neck.
And imagine any fellow who worked at repairing motor-cycles admitting that he couldn't ride! "I can!" said Jimmie. "I can!" said every other workman in the place. "What is it!" asked Jimmie always of the forward and pushing sort. "The French ask for half a dozen men in a rush. They've had several motor-cycle units wiped out or captured." "Gee!" said Jimmie. "I'll go!" "And me!" said another.
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