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Title: McWhinney's Jaunt
Author: Lawson, Robert (1892-1957)
Date of first publication: 1951
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Boston and Toronto: Little, Brown.
   Undated paperback edition, published in 1979 or later.
Date first posted: 17 October 2010
Date last updated: 17 October 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #639

This ebook was produced by:
Marcia Brooks, Ross Cooling, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net




  McWhinney's Jaunt




McWhinney's Jaunt

by _ROBERT LAWSON_

ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR

[Illustration]




  _To that dear friend
  of my youth_
  BARON KARL FRIEDRICH HIERONYMUS
  VON MNCHHAUSEN




  McWhinney's Jaunt




[Illustration]

Mr. Purslane was sitting in his garden resting. He wasn't resting from
anything special--just resting.

Suddenly Mr. Purslane was surprised to see a man on a bicycle come
riding up the driveway. He was a rather odd-looking man and it was an
odd-looking bicycle.

But the strangest thing of all was that most of the time the man was
riding through the air, just about a foot or six inches above the
surface of the drive.

Each time the tires struck a bump in the driveway the bicycle would
bounce up and float along smoothly for fifty feet or so before returning
to the gravel.

It seemed most unusual.

[Illustration]

Beside the Purslane drive there is an old-fashioned iron hitching post.
The stranger rode up to it, snapped one end of a light chain to the ring
and dismounted.

As soon as he did so the bicycle rose in the air as far as the chain
allowed and hung there, swaying slightly, like a tethered balloon.

The man removed the bicycle clips from his trousers and hung them on the
handle bars. He adjusted his old-style round cuffs and walked over to
where Mr. Purslane was sitting.

He was not exactly the type of person that one sees every day.

[Illustration]

"Good afternoon," he said. "May I introduce myself? The name is
McWhinney, Professor Ambrose Augustus McWhinney. Perhaps you have heard
of me?"

"No," Mr. Purslane answered, "I don't think I have."

"Don't apologize," the other said. "Few people ever have. Have you ever
heard of Z-Gas?"

"No," answered Mr. Purslane, "I never have."

"No need to apologize," said the stranger. "_No_ one ever has."

He sat down, removed his hat and polished his forehead with a Persian
silk handkerchief. The hat was quite fascinating. It was an ancient,
tall, stovepipe model and the band was evidently used for holding useful
things.

Stuck in it were: three fishhooks and half a dozen matches, a can
opener, a bottle opener, some toothpicks and a New York, New Haven and
Hartford timetable. Also an extra pair of spectacles, three pipe
cleaners, several calling cards, an eagle feather, a nail file, a
rolled-up violin string, needles and thread, a packet of zinnia seeds
and the minute hand of a grandfather's clock.

[Illustration]

"It just goes to show," the Professor said, "what laziness can do."

       *     *     *     *     *

Now I have always been very fond of bicycling (the Professor began), but
I disliked pumping up my own tires--just sheer laziness. I decided that
it would be far easier to inflate them by means of a pressure tank
equipped with a suitable tube.

So in my laboratory I put a great many chemicals together in a heavy
steel tank. I will not bother to tell you what they were--you wouldn't
understand anyway.

The mixture of these ingredients was supposed to generate a pressure in
the tank and, like all my experiments, this one worked perfectly. The
gauge on the tank soon indicated an excellent pressure.

[Illustration]

However, when I inflated the tires of my bicycle (they were a new pair
and had never been pumped up before), a remarkable thing occurred. The
moment that they were filled the bicycle began to rise straight up in
the air, despite all my efforts to hold it down.

Luckily there was a light but strong piece of chain nearby and I was
able to fasten one end of this to the bicycle and tie the other end to a
stout tree.

It was our dog's chain and since he was still attached to it there was a
certain amount of confusion.

I at once deduced that the mixture I had made in the tank had not only
caused a pressure, but had produced a hitherto unknown gas, having
tremendous lifting power.

Of course it was a most important discovery, but as I had already
forgotten several of the ingredients it did not greatly advance the
cause of Science.

I named it Z-Gas, after the last letter of the alphabet.

[Illustration]

I now decided to try riding the bicycle and with some effort managed to
pull it down and mount. I found that the weight of my body almost
exactly counterbalanced the buoyancy of the tires.

Riding down the driveway of our home was a delightful experience, for
every slight bump in the surface would send me into the air and I could
glide along for incredible distances before returning to the ground.

It was exactly the same sensation that one often encounters in dreams.

Experimenting further, I discovered that by merely leaning far back in
the saddle and pedaling briskly I could rise to almost any height I
chose, "gliding through the air," as the song has it, "with the greatest
of ease." To descend I simply leaned forward on the handle bars and
guided myself back to earth.

I practiced all afternoon with much satisfaction and by evening was able
to ride on the earth or through the air with equal facility.

[Illustration]

Since it was vacation time at my university and since Mrs. McWhinney,
having taken up needlepoint, had become a great bore, I decided that I
would benefit by a trip somewhere else. This new discovery seemed to
promise a pleasant mode of locomotion. The only impediment was a lack of
money, a condition not infrequent in our household.

Recollecting that there was a Carnival in town, I filled a small tank
with Z-Gas and placed it in a wheelbarrow. It was necessary to weight it
down with several heavy stones.

The Carnival man who operated the balloon concession was greatly
interested when I demonstrated the tremendous lifting power of Z-Gas.
"That's hot stuff," he exclaimed. "Why, two or three balloons will lift
a kid right offen his feet. They'll go for it."

After some chaffering he agreed to pay fifty dollars for a season's
supply.

As the gates were then opening, he hastily began to fill a great number
of balloons. Suddenly, to his surprise, he started to rise slowly in the
air. I shouted to him to release the balloons, but he foolishly held on
until it was too late to let go.

When I last saw him he had just cleared the roof of the A & P building
and was drifting slowly in a southeasterly direction.

Fortunately he had already paid me.

[Illustration]

That evening I packed a few necessities such as underwear, pajamas,
toothbrush, pickled peaches, an almanac, an alarm clock and some salted
peanuts in the handle-bar baskets, oiled my trusty bicycle and informed
Mrs. McWhinney that I was leaving for Hollywood in the morning.

She had run out of magenta thread and was wondering whether green would
do just as well, so she paid very little attention.

I had two reasons for choosing Hollywood as my destination. First, I
felt that this remarkable bicycle might secure me an engagement in the
motion pictures more remunerative than my professorship. Secondly, and
this was purely personal, I had hopes of meeting face to face that
lovely star Gloria Glamora, who has always typified all my ideals of
feminine charm and beauty.

Shortly after sunup I made an early start and was soon skimming down the
Murphy Parkway. Of course, as on most parkways, bicycling was strictly
forbidden, but whenever I saw a Police car I merely leaned back and
soared over it, much to the surprise of the officers.

I avoided all toll booths in the same manner, which, perhaps, was not
strictly honest, but with only fifty dollars on which to cross the
continent it was necessary to conserve every dime.

[Illustration]

I soon reached New York City and was faced by the barrier of the mighty
Hudson, but crossing this proved no great difficulty.

Mounting one of the great supporting cables of the George Washington
Bridge I pedaled up it to the top of the first tower. It was a rather
stiff climb, but once there the view was magnificent.

The coast down the gracefully curving cable was a thrilling experience
and the momentum carried me halfway up the farther slope.

Coasting down from the second tower I became aware of several Police
cars and a great deal of activity around the toll booth on the New
Jersey shore. So I took off part way down the incline and soared well
above the booth and almost across the Jersey Meadows before returning to
terra firma.

[Illustration]

Before long I discovered that heat greatly increased the lifting power
of the Z-Gas in my tires. I had already noted that during the warmth of
the day it was much easier to ride through the air than in the cool of
the morning or evening.

However, in crossing Pennsylvania I had a dramatic demonstration of this
which might easily have proved fatal. It was in a district of steel
mills, mostly located in ravines and gulleys. To avoid this ugliness I
was flying above them when I chanced to pass directly above what
appeared to be an idle blast furnace.

Barely had I passed over it when it suddenly erupted a veritable volcano
of flame, smoke and soot. I tremble to think of the results had it
occurred a second earlier.

As it was I was only slightly singed, but the effect on my tires was
alarming. Both of them swelled to the danger point and I rose to a
tremendous height. It took an hour or more of violent pedaling to get
down to earth again.

It was a terrifying experience and one which I took pains not to repeat.

[Illustration]

With such a small amount of capital at my disposal it was necessary to
spend my nights in the cheapest lodgings obtainable, usually roadside
cabins.

It was my invariable custom to take my bicycle to my room with me. There
I would allow it to rise to the ceiling where it remained safely all
night, completely out of the way. In a more pretentious hostelry this
might have caused some comment, but in the sort of places I was obliged
to patronize it passed unnoticed.

One evening, however, the cabin to which I was assigned was so flimsily
constructed that when my bicycle pressed against the ceiling the entire
roof began to rise up and disintegrate.

Fortunately I managed to catch the mooring chain and attach it to the
foot of my bed. Then, with the aid of a sheet, I was able to tie the
rear wheel to the head of the bed. But the weight of the bed was not
enough to hold down the bicycle without my own weight added, so I dared
not remove myself from it the entire night. I was forced to undress
sitting up in bed and to retire without brushing my teeth, a thing which
always causes me to sleep badly.

All told, it was a most uncomfortable stay.

[Illustration]

So far the weather had proved ideal, but as I approached the Middle West
the sun became intensely hot and there were occasional showers. I
greatly felt the need of some protection from the elements and this was
afforded me in an almost providential manner.

An extremely violent rain squall overtook me as I passed through a
wealthy suburb of Dayton, Ohio, I believe it was. The wind was terrific
and the air was filled with flying objects of various sorts.

Among these I spied exactly what I needed, a handsome lawn umbrella,
decorated with orange mermaids. The mermaids were not necessary, but the
umbrella was. With great exertions I managed to capture this, close it
and fasten it to my bicycle.

I should, perhaps, have turned it in at the Lost and Found Bureau, if
there was one, but by the time the storm had abated I had been blown
many miles beyond the town. So I felt no qualms of conscience about
retaining this most useful piece of equipment.

Moreover, I felt that people should take better care of their property
and not allow it to be blown about the streets, gravely endangering the
safety of innocent passers-by.

[Illustration]

The umbrella proved to be of great value, not only because of its
shelter from the weather, but also as an assistance in locomotion.

For the top was adjustable, so when there was a favoring wind I had
merely to adjust it to the correct angle and the breeze propelled me at
a splendid rate, with no effort at all on my part.

The only difficulty lay in the fact that when set at certain angles the
umbrella cut off my view of approaching objects and I had several narrow
escapes from serious accidents. I soon remedied this, however, by
cutting a small window which I covered with cellophane.

I also attached to the edge of the umbrella a lightweight canvas curtain
which, of course, was looped up during the day, but at night could be
lowered to the ground, forming a neat circular tent that sheltered my
bicycle, myself and my belongings.

Later, in the Great Open Spaces of the Far West, I found this most
useful.

[Illustration]

I found Ohio, Indiana and Illinois rather tiresome, being mostly corn.
However, the roads were flat and straight and the wind, though hot, blew
strongly from the east. With the aid of my umbrella I passed through
them quite quickly, skimming over all cars which impeded my progress and
only touching the earth every few miles.

I crossed the Mississippi, known as the Father of Waters, at St. Louis,
riding over the upper girders of the famed Municipal Bridge. This was
during the evening rush hour and the sight of me and my bicycle crossing
in this unconventional manner seemed to cause some little confusion in
the motor traffic. Several Police cars blew their sirens at me, but as
they also were caught in the jam they were helpless to follow.

I found Missouri as tiresome as Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, being also
mostly corn.

[Illustration]

By now my finances were depleted almost to the vanishing point. While
considering what could be done to better my condition I chanced upon a
County Fair being held in some Missouri hamlet, the name of which I have
forgotten.

I was about to pass it by when my eye was caught by a large banner
announcing a Grand Championship Bicycle Race, for a purse of $500.

Entering the grounds I discovered that the race was about to start and
that the entry fee was two dollars. It was a grave decision which
confronted me, for at the moment my entire fortune consisted of $2.17,
but without hesitation I stepped up, paid my fee and was entered for the
race.

Most of the contestants seemed to be professional riders and eyed me and
my bicycle with ill-concealed contempt.

I hastily detached the umbrella and the two baskets which contained my
belongings and placed them in the care of a kindly bystander. Since the
other riders all wore very scanty costumes I also doffed my hat and
removed my outer garments, entrusting them to the same person.

Then I strode determinedly up to the starting line.

[Illustration]

Not being accustomed to professional racing I got off to a rather poor
start. Each of the other contestants had a handler who held the bicycle
while he mounted and at the sound of the gun gave him a great push.

Of course I was not so equipped and by the time I had mounted and gotten
started all the others were well down the track, bunched in a tight
group.

I pedaled briskly and thanks to the Z-Gas in my tires, which enabled me
to skim along so lightly, soon overhauled the pack.

However, it now appeared that they had entered into a dastardly
conspiracy, for every time I attempted to pass, they grouped themselves
closely directly in front of me, completely blocking my progress. At the
same time they turned around, jeering and making insulting remarks.

Angered by such bad sportsmanship I thereupon dropped back a short
distance, pedaled hard, leaned back in the saddle, pulled up on the
handle bars and skimmed swiftly over their heads, landing well down the
track ahead of them. I could now really make speed and soon caught up to
the pack again and repeated the performance.

[Illustration]

The race was one mile, or four times around the track, and in that
distance I managed to lap the field (as the expression has it) twice,
and to cross the finish line several hundred feet ahead of the nearest
contender.

Such a feat had never before been witnessed and of course the ovation
was tremendous. The other contestants, their managers and handlers all
protested loudly, but the Judges decided that, although my style of
riding was perhaps slightly unorthodox, there was no rule actually
forbidding it. I was, therefore, awarded a blue ribbon and, far more
important to me, the prize of $500 cash.

I pinned the ribbon to my umbrella and reattached that and the baskets
to my bicycle. I also donned my clothing, carefully pinning the money in
my vest pocket.

Having rewarded the kindly bystander with a handsome box of cigars which
the Mayor had enthusiastically pressed on me, I remounted and amid the
plaudits of the throng rode out of the Fairgrounds and resumed my
journey.

[Illustration]

Now that my financial situation was improved I looked forward to
spending my nights in the best hotels, but unfortunately there weren't
any. I had now reached the Great Open Spaces, where hotels of any sort
were few and far between, and those that there were, were usually
crowded to capacity. In one case this exposed me to a most humiliating
experience.

In some small Oklahoma oil town, the hotel being filled, I had pitched
my tent in a small park opposite the courthouse. In the morning I was
awakened by a great deal of jostling and loud talk outside my tent.

Emerging to learn the cause of this I discovered that some enterprising
citizen had hung up a sign which read: "See the HOMO SAPIENS--10 a
look."

He had arranged several soapboxes so that his ignorant victims could
step up and peer down through the window of the umbrella, thus viewing
the interior of my tent and my sleeping form. He had apparently been
doing a thriving business.

What puzzled me was why none of these dupes protested at being so
outrageously fleeced, but they all seemed perfectly well satisfied,
indeed many appeared highly amused.

[Illustration]

I was glad to leave Oklahoma behind, for not only was the humor of its
inhabitants of a low caliber, but it proved to be a very oily state. The
roads were always slippery with oil, and riding through the air was a
matter of constantly dodging oil derricks.

Moreover new wells, or "gushers," were continually spouting, sending
down showers of mud, water and black oil. I was indeed grateful for the
protection afforded by my umbrella, but the orange mermaids became sadly
spotted and took on the unpleasant appearance of a bad case of smallpox.

[Illustration]

Now I was in the heart of the Great West, so famed in song and story.
The sweeping plains of Texas, New Mexico and Arizona, the deserts and
the dramatic canyons, while doubtless attractive to cattle and Gila
Monsters, would have proved a great trial to the ordinary bicyclist.

But the intense heat of the sun lent such buoyancy to my tires that I
was enabled to rise to considerable heights, and, with the aid of my
umbrella-sail, to travel incredible distances in a day.

Having provided myself with an ample supply of canned goods I usually
camped out at night and those nights in the open are among my most
treasured memories.

The air was cool and crisp, the stars brilliant. Here one could really
relax, safe from all intrusion save an occasional mountain lion or
rattlesnake, attracted by the cozy warmth of my tent. Lulled by the
sleepy lowing of the cattle and the howl of the distant coyote, I slept
as never before.

It also saved considerable expense.

[Illustration]

The rest of the journey across these plains and deserts was fairly
uneventful, except for one rather startling experience.

It occurred over a most wild and arid stretch of desert. The terrific
heat had raised me to a great height and I was floating along easily,
not paying much attention to anything. I idly noted some odd-looking
steel erections which looked strangely out of place in this desolate
waste. One, especially, had the appearance of a shiny metal factory
chimney.

Just as I was approaching there was a tremendous explosion and with a
terrific roar this huge affair took off and rose swiftly into the upper
air, leaving a trail of smoke, flame and vapor.

Luckily I was sufficiently alert to swerve sharply and avoid its course,
otherwise I might have sustained serious injury.

It later occurred to me that I must have been over the Government's
rocket proving ground at White Sands, New Mexico, a spot which I would
strongly advise other travelers to avoid.

[Illustration]

I was now approaching that most stupendous of all scenic wonders, the
Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Although I had often read of it, no amount
of reading or any number of pictures could really prepare one for its
breath-taking beauty.

The hotel at which I stopped, located close to the edge of the chasm,
was a magnificent affair and extremely expensive. Most of the guests
were too.

While my finances were still in excellent shape I did wish to have an
ample supply of money on arriving in Hollywood. I therefore engaged in
conversation with several of the wealthy gentlemen guests and after a
time rather casually led up to the boast that I could ride my bicycle
across the Canyon on a kite string.

Of course this was met with a great deal of scoffing and many heavy
witticisms. However, as they were all bored, there being nothing to do
except look at the scenery, the prospect of any sort of sporting event
appealed to them greatly. Within a few moments they had collected a
purse of $1000, this to be my reward should I succeed.

I set twelve noon of the following day as the hour for the attempt,
since I wanted my tires to have their maximum buoyancy. The Canyon
looked awfully deep.

[Illustration]

The next morning I managed to procure a couple of miles of light string
such as children use in flying kites. Getting it across to the other
side of the Canyon presented a problem, but one of the guests who had
his private aeroplane kindly flew me across. On the far rim I drove a
stout stake, tied the string to it and then we flew back, paying out the
string as we came. Here I drove another stake, pulled the string as taut
as possible and made it fast.

By now many of the lady guests, convinced that my coming attempt was
sheer suicide, protested to the Manager of the hotel, demanding that he
stop it. He, however, merely shrugged and said that "the guest is always
right." He also added that since I had paid my bill in advance he had
nothing to worry about.

They thereupon telephoned to the Sheriff who lived some ninety miles
away. He promised to come as quickly as possible, but feared he could
not make it before one o'clock.

Everything being prepared I went to my room where I shaved, sent a
picture post card to Mrs. McWhinney, oiled my bicycle thoroughly and
then took a short nap.

[Illustration]

When I emerged and mounted my bicycle promptly at noon the excitement
and arguments among the assembled crowd were intense, but my calm,
confident air seemed to quiet them somewhat.

All the waiters, bellboys, kitchen help and chambermaids from the hotel
were there, as well as the guests, so there was quite a throng. Through
this a straight path had been cleared to the edge of the Canyon.

Fearing that the Sheriff might arrive at any moment and spoil
everything, I wasted no time but pedaled briskly toward the brink, being
careful to ride exactly on the string.

As I neared that awesome gulf many of the ladies screamed and not a few
fainted, but all broke into cries of wonder as, without faltering, I
continued to ride smoothly out into the air, apparently on the flimsy
kite string.

My only difficulty was in staying near enough to the string to make it
appear that I was riding on it. For it was swayed by a slight breeze and
at times was ten or twenty feet to one side or the other of my tires.
However the string was so light that no eye could follow it for more
than a few hundred feet and the illusion apparently was perfect.

Reaching the far side, I turned around and came back in the same manner,
receiving a tremendous ovation on my return.

[Illustration]

I was overwhelmed with attentions, the very ladies who had attempted to
prevent my exhibition now hailing me as a superman. Everyone wished to
examine my bicycle, but could discover nothing unusual about it.
Naturally, I made no mention of the Z-Gas.

In the midst of the excitement the Sheriff arrived, but as I had
obviously committed no offense he had no duty to perform. He was most
pleasant about it all and was invited to a gala luncheon, provided by
the management.

At this luncheon I was formally presented with the $1000 purse and was,
of course, called on for a speech. I gave a short talk on "The Effect of
Nuclear Fission on the Propagation of the Delphinium," a subject about
which I knew nothing and my audience still less.

The Manager attempted to persuade me to remain for the rest of the
season and repeat my feat daily. He made most flattering offers of free
accommodation and a handsome salary, but my mind being set on Hollywood
and higher things, I refused firmly.

Bidding farewell to him, the Sheriff, the generous sportsmen who had
provided the purse and, of course, the ladies, I remounted my bicycle
and continued on my way.

[Illustration]

A few days later found me coasting down a long slope into Hollywood, the
fabulous goal of so many hopeful young hearts, the El Dorado of many a
fortune seeker, the Mecca of art and beauty. It looked very much like
Newark, N.J., only sprawlier.

I secured quarters in a magnificent hostelry abounding in patios, pools,
palms, lovebirds, fountains, tropical fish and tourists. The rates were
fantastic, but I was well supplied with money and felt it wise to
present a certain appearance of affluence.

I had feared that perhaps such an elegant inn might look askance at my
parking my bicycle on the ceiling, but the bellboy who showed me to my
quarters seemed completely disinterested. "You see everything here," he
shrugged. "The last guy was a stilt-walker and always come in through
the window, the one before that had a trained hyena."

My quarters were indeed luxurious. In addition to everything else there
was a private balcony, which afforded a splendid view of the hotel's
swimming pool and the parking lot back of the Super Market.

Reminded that for the past three days I had been traversing hot and
dusty deserts I donned my bathing suit, which I had thoughtfully brought
along, and enjoyed a most relaxing dip.

[Illustration]

To meet a motion picture executive was, of course, my first problem. In
my case, unlike the experiences of so many hopefuls, it proved quite
simple.

An old colleague of mine, a former Professor of Physics at Harvard, now
had an excellent position as an electrician with one of the larger
companies. He was well acquainted with Arturo McPhysh, the famous
Director, being a member of the same chess club. He gladly arranged an
appointment for me with Mr. McPhysh.

Observing that my dress was somewhat somber compared to the colorful
garb of the motion picture colony, I added a few Hollywood touches to my
costume--a checked sport jacket, a gaily colored scarf and, of course,
sunglasses.

Thus spruced up I mounted my bicycle and proceeded to the offices of
Superart Masterpieces Inc. to keep my appointment with Mr. McPhysh.

[Illustration]

My appointment was for 10:15 A.M. and I was not kept waiting
unduly long, Mr. McPhysh emerging from his office promptly at 5:30
P.M.

He led me to one of the outdoor stages and asked that I perform. The
stage was being prepared for a historical drama and was mostly occupied
by a mammoth reproduction of the Roman Colosseum or the walls of
Jericho, I could not quite tell which.

I rode about, skimming lightly over tables, sawhorses, piles of lumber
and other things which encumbered the stage, executed a few graceful
figures in the air and returned.

"Is that all?" the Director asked, lighting a cigar.

Somewhat nettled I pedaled hard, leaned far back and soared to the top
of the great scenic construction. I rode along the crenelated walls,
zoomed down through a huge arch, lighted on top of an enormous plaster
elephant, rode a telephone wire to the office building and back, and
came down with a flourish.

"There's nothing there we couldn't do with mirrors and a couple of
wires," Mr. McPhysh said. "Sorry, Professor." He turned on his heel and
walked to his waiting car.

[Illustration]

I returned to my hotel in a despondent mood and began a dreary week of
seeking employment. My friend arranged other interviews for me, some I
made myself, but the results were always the same. No one appreciated my
talents or the remarkable qualities of my bicycle. In this realm of
fantasy they could see nothing especially unusual about it.

My final humiliation came when a Director of one of the lesser
companies, specializing in vulgar low-class comedies, offered me
employment, but without my bicycle!

My golden dreams of a Hollywood career melted away as rapidly as my
money. When I paid my hotel bill at the end of the week my finances were
sadly depleted. I decided then and there that I had had enough of
Hollywood.

My friend came to see me off and informed me that the lovely Gloria
Glamora was "working on location" as it was called, near Las Vegas,
Nevada, so I decided to stop there on my homeward journey.

I left Hollywood without regret, and without my new sport jacket which,
unfortunately, had been purloined.

[Illustration]

A few hot and dusty days brought me to the vicinity of Las Vegas where I
easily located the motion picture company's camp. The heat was so
terrific that I could not have stayed on the earth had I wished to.
Riding at considerable height I could see the tents, trailers, cars,
mess shacks and a huge herd of cattle.

Close to the cattle I discerned a group of people, horsemen, trucks,
generators, cameras and sound equipment. There, I felt sure, must also
be the lovely Gloria Glamora and accordingly I turned my course in that
direction. I had to pedal very hard to overcome the extreme buoyancy of
my tires.

Unfortunately the sight of me and my bicycle with its gay umbrella
passing overhead caused great consternation among the cattle. Suddenly
the immense herd started a wild stampede directly toward the unfortunate
picture people.

The cowardly horsemen scattered in all directions, leaving one slight
feminine figure, atop a magnificent stallion, alone and helpless in the
path of the thundering herd.

The horse began to run aimlessly; the rider, obviously no horsewoman,
had lost her reins and clung desperately to the pommel.

Pedaling like mad I swooped low, grasped the reins and with the greatest
effort managed to swing the terrified steed out of the path of the
onrushing doom.

[Illustration]

Of course the lone figure was the gorgeous Gloria Glamora, but in the
hot glare of the desert sun how differently she appeared from that
seductive apparition which had so often entranced me from the screen of
the Bijou Theater!

She had lost her sombrero, and with it a great part of her hair. The
remainder hung in lank rattails about her face, now streaked with
running make-up. And she was sweating profusely, a condition which has
always struck me as most unconducive to feminine charm.

But if her appearance was disillusioning, her voice was shattering.
Those deep, dulcet, beguiling tones became now the harsh screech of an
angry macaw.

And her language! In my travels abroad I have occasionally heard
exchanges between Billingsgate fishwives, but these were the mere
prattlings of innocent children compared to the flood of invective that
was loosed on me.

"At least, Madame," I finally managed to put in, "at least I have saved
your life."

"So what?" she snarled.

Sadly I mounted my bicycle and prepared to take off. "So I have done a
great wrong to the motion picture public," I replied with what dignity I
could summon. I thereupon departed, my last Hollywood illusion
completely laid in the dust.

[Illustration]

After these bitter disappointments, the quiet life of the campus seemed
most appealing, and since my classes would be resuming in a short time I
decided to turn my course homeward. There was only one more spot in the
West which I still wished to visit, this being the famed Yellowstone
Park.

Since the great Boulder Dam lay in my direct route I stopped there and
found it truly impressive. I rode across the dam several times which, of
course, was no unusual feat; thousands of motorists have done it. I did,
however, make my performance somewhat different by suddenly turning,
when halfway across, and riding up the entire length of Lake Mead, a
rather beautiful body of water.

This caused no little excitement among the tourists atop the dam.

[Illustration]

The route from here to the Yellowstone traversed extremely mountainous
country and I would have found it difficult traveling had it not been
for a most unusual occurrence.

I was, of course, camping out nights and often supplemented my canned
diet with fresh fish, of which I am very fond. I had brought along a
light fly rod and now and then when crossing some mountain lake would
drop my line, invariably being rewarded by one or two trout, or
"speckled beauties" as they are sometimes called.

On this particular occasion I had just hooked a particularly fine trout,
which I was having considerable trouble in landing, when it was suddenly
seized by an enormous osprey, or fish hawk. The huge bird set off in a
northeasterly direction, towing me at terrific speed.

Determined not to lose my line, I played the great hawk with all my
skill, but he was equally determined and the battle continued for hours.
It was not until late afternoon that the fish finally broke under the
strain and so I was able to come down to earth. The portion of trout
remaining to me was hardly edible, but I was delighted to find that the
flight had carried me over all the most rugged part of the terrain, so I
could hardly resent the loss of that one trout.

[Illustration]

Yellowstone Park surpassed all my expectations. The scenery, the geysers
and the steaming pools were most interesting and these beautiful hot
water pools gave me an opportunity to do some much needed laundry work.

However, while engaged in this a near-calamity occurred. I had just
finished rinsing the last of my underwear when, glancing around, I
discovered an enormous bear chewing the rear tire of my bicycle! (I
later discovered that I had ridden over a sticky candy bar, which
doubtless was what attracted him.)

Whether it was my frantic approach or the odor of escaping Z-Gas which
drove him away I do not know, but as I drew near the great beast rose on
his haunches and after a few growls reluctantly withdrew.

I hastily snatched out my First Aid kit and applied some adhesive tape
to the punctured tire, praying that not too much of the precious gas had
been lost, but the rear tire seemed alarmingly soft.

[Illustration]

I was now in what is often described as a "pretty pickle," for the rear
wheel had lost most of its buoyancy while the front wheel still retained
all its original lifting power, completely upsetting the equilibrium of
my bicycle.

When I attempted to mount the front wheel rose straight up in the air
while the rear one remained on the ground, much in the manner of a
rearing horse. I have often seen trick bicyclists in the circus or in
vaudeville ride in this manner, but to one unused to it it is most
upsetting.

However, I could make some slight progress and eventually managed to
reach a Service Station. Here I borrowed a piece of rubber tubing used
for inflating tires and by connecting the valves of my front and rear
tires was able to equalize their pressure.

While this restored the equilibrium of my bicycle, I was depressed to
discover that the loss of gas had greatly reduced its buoyancy. Even in
the heat of the midday sun I was scarcely able to rise more than a foot
or so above the ground.

[Illustration]

I shall not dwell long on my homeward journey, for it was extremely
dull. No longer could I leap great distances into the air, soaring over
anything which impeded my progress. No longer could I skim through ugly
or uninteresting country at the speed of the wind.

I was an eagle with clipped wings, tied to the earth almost as much as
the ordinary bicyclist or motorist.

The rolling wheat fields of South Dakota and Iowa, while doubtless an
excellent place to grow the nation's supply of wheat, were not
particularly inspiring. Only the fact that there was a strong hot wind,
which blew continuously, enabled me to pass through them with any degree
of speed.

As I reached the Middle West I was driven to all sorts of humiliating
expedients to hasten my journey. Sometimes, on payment of a small fee, I
was allowed to hitch on behind a trailer truck for a day, a most
uncomfortable mode of travel.

At other times I even took trains, with my bicycle securely chained down
in the baggage car. This, however, proved too great a strain on my
dwindling financial resources and I again took to the road.

[Illustration]

This latter portion of my trip has been more than tiresome, but I am now
cheered by the fact that within two or three days I will be at home.
_Home is the sailor, home from the sea_ (Stevenson). Next week my
classes resume and I feel quite sure that by now Mrs. McWhinney will
have recovered from her needlework enthusiasm and become more
companionable. Altogether a very pleasant and restful prospect.

Also, there is the reassuring thought that in my laboratory there is a
large tank of Z-Gas, worth, I should say, many thousands of dollars. You
wouldn't care for ten dollars' worth?

       *     *     *     *     *

"No," Mr. Purslane answered, "I don't think I would."

"Five?" the Professor asked. "Because of your intelligent listening and
pleasant hospitality, I would be delighted to supply you with a liter of
this remarkable gas for the sum of five dollars. Think of the fun you
could have with it."

Mr. Purslane had already been thinking of the fun he could have with it
and it seemed well worth the price. He extracted a five-dollar bill from
his wallet and passed it over.

The Professor accepted it with great dignity and stuck it in the band of
the tall hat. "This," he said, "will enable me to complete my journey
with a reasonable degree of comfort."

From inside the hat he drew a sheet of paper and a fountain pen and
wrote out a very legally worded receipt. This promised to deliver to
Charles Purslane, Esq., for value received, 1 cu. liter of Z-Gas, all
shipping charges prepaid. It was signed Ambrose Augustus McWhinney,
B.G.E., F.R.G.S., B.P.O.E., E.R.P., B.S. Cantab., G.H.Q., O.E.D.
(Oxon.), etc.

With a deep bow and further expressions of gratitude he mounted his
bicycle and rode down the Purslane driveway. There is a low stone wall
beside this drive where it turns toward the main road and as a final
gesture the Professor pedaled briskly, leaned back in the saddle, pulled
up on the handle bars and just managed to clear the wall. He landed
safely on the main road and disappeared down the hill.

That was a month or two ago and Mr. Purslane is still eagerly awaiting
the arrival of the Z-Gas, for he has thought of a great many amusing
things that could be done with such a remarkable substance.

It is probable that the Professor has been too busy with his new classes
to get around to it. It is also just possible that, being somewhat
absent-minded, he has forgotten all about it.

[Illustration]




[End of _McWhinney's Jaunt_ by Robert Lawson]
