On, on I sped, not deigning even to look back.  The same spirit possessed me as that which fired the hearts of the olden knights.  I would have been glad to meet with another Scorcher, and yet another, that for the sake of my fair lady I might engage with each and humble his pride in the dust.

“It is true,” I said to myself, with an inward laugh, “I carry no glove or delicate handkerchief bound upon my visor—­” but at this point my mind wandered.  I went more slowly, and at last I stopped and sat down under the shade of a way-side tree.  I thought for a few minutes, and then I said to myself, “It seems to me this would be a good time to take one of those capsules,” and I took one.  I then fancied that perhaps I ought to take two, but I contented myself with one.

CHAPTER VI

THE HOLLY SPRIG INN

In the middle of the day I stopped at Vernon, and the afternoon was well advanced when I came in sight of a little way-side house with a broad unfenced green in front of it, and a swinging sign which told the traveller that this was the “Holly Sprig Inn.”

I dismounted on the opposite side of the road and gazed upon the smoothly shaven greensward in front of the little inn; upon the pretty upper windows peeping out from their frames of leaves; upon the queerly-shaped projections of the building; upon the low portico which shaded the doorway; and upon the gentle stream of blue smoke which rose from the great gray chimney.

Then I turned and looked over the surrounding country.  There were broad meadows slightly descending to a long line of trees, between which I could see the glimmering of water.  On the other side of the road, and extending back of the inn, there were low, forest-crowned hills.  Then my eyes, returning to nearer objects, fell upon an old-fashioned garden, with bright flowers and rows of box, which lay beyond the house.

“Why on earth,” I thought, “should I pass such a place as this and go on to the Cheltenham, with its waiters in coat tails, its nurse-maids, and its rows of people on piazzas?  She could not know my tastes, and perhaps she had thought but little on the subject, and had taken her ideas from her father.  He is just the man to be contented with nothing else than a vast sprawling hotel, with disdainful menials expecting tips.”

I rolled my bicycle along the little path which ran around the green, and knocked upon the open door of Holly Sprig Inn.

In a few moments a boy came into the hall.  He was not dressed like an ordinary hotel attendant, but his appearance was decent, and he might have been a sub-clerk or a head hall-boy.

“Can I obtain lodging here for the night?” I asked.

The boy looked at me from head to foot, and an expression such as might be produced by too much lemon juice came upon his face.

“No,” said he; “we don’t take cyclers.”