goes, for biking Saturn is quite the cheese. In two minutes we'll be there."
And in two minutes they were there. In less, in fact, for hardly eight seconds had passed before a great, blinding light caused Jimmieboy to close his eyes, and when he had opened them again he and Bikey were speeding along a most beautiful road, paved with gold.
"I thought so," said Bikey, "we're on the ring. And isn't it smooth?"
"It's like riding on glass," said Jimmieboy. And then they stopped short.
A peculiar looking creature had stopped them. It was a creature with a face not unlike that of a man, and a body like a man's, but instead of legs it had wheels like a bicycle. If you can imagine a Centaur with a body like a bicycle instead of a horse you will have a perfect mental picture of this strange creature.
"Excuse me," said the stranger, "but we have to be very particular here. Where do you come from?"
"Earth," said Bikey.
"All right," said the stranger. "Move on, I'm a Saturn policeman and so many wheelmen from the Sun and the Moon and Jupiter have caused disturbances of late that we have had to forbid them coming. You are the only Earth people who have been here, and of course are not included in our rules, but I will have to go along with you to see that you do not break any of them."
"We're very glad to meet you," said Bikey, "and if you'll tell us your rules we will be very glad to obey them."
"Well," said the creature with wheels instead of legs, "the first rule is that nobody shall ride a wheel standing on his head. There was a person over here from Mars last week who actually put his head in the saddle and wheeled his pedals with his hands."
"How utterly absurd!" said Jimmieboy.
"Wasn't it?" said the Saturnian; "and my! how mad he got when I interfered – asked whether this was a free country and if anybody had rights, and all sorts of stuff like that. Now there's another rule we have, and that is that coasting backward cannot be permitted. We used to allow that until a man from Jupiter ran slap bang into another man who lived at the extreme end of the handle of the Great Dipper, who was coasting backward from the other direction. They came together so hard that we couldn't get 'em apart, and we have had to keep 'em here ever since. They can't be separated, and the Dipper man won't go to Jupiter, and the Jupiter man won't go to Dipperville – consequently they stay here. They're a fearful nuisance, and it all came from coasting backward."
"It's a very good rule," said Jimmieboy, "but in our world I don't think we'd need a rule like that, because, while our bicycle riders do lots of queer things, I don't think they'd do that."
"I hope not," said the Saturnian, "because there isn't any use in it, any more than in that other trick our visiting bicyclists try to play here. They take those bicycles built for two, you know, and have what they call tugs of war with 'em. One fellow takes the hind wheel and the other the front wheel, and each begins to work for all he is worth to pull the other along. We had to stop that, too, because the last time they did it the men were so strong that the bar was pulled apart and both tuggers went flying off on one wheel so fast that they have never managed to get back – not that we want them back, but that we don't want people to set bicycling down as a dangerous sport. It means so much to us. We get all our money from our big ring here; bicyclists come from all parts of the universe to ride around it, and as they pay for the privilege why we get millions of dollars a year, which is divided up among the people. Consequence is, nobody has to do any work and we are all happy. You can see for yourself that it would be very bad for us if people gave it up as dangerous."
"Very true," said Bikey, "and now we know the rules I suppose we can go ahead."
"Yes," said the policeman, "only you must go to the Captain's office and get a permit. It'll cost you $2,000 for one season."
"Two thousand dollars?" echoed Jimmieboy, aghast.
"That's what I said," said the policeman.
"But," said Jimmieboy, ruefully, "I haven't got more than five cents with me."
"Then," said the policeman, "you can get a permit for five cents' worth – that's one-forty thousandth part of a season."
"And how long is a season?" asked Jimmieboy.
"Forty thousand years," said the policeman. "You can ride a year for five cents."
Bikey laughed.
"That'll be long enough," he said. "And where can I find the Captain?"
"I'm him," said the Saturnian. "Give me the five cents and it will be all right."
So Jimmieboy handed over his nickel, and in a moment he and Bikey were speeding along over a beautiful golden road so wide that he could not see the other side of it, and stretching on and on to the fore for thousands of miles.
III
A SUDDEN STOP AT THE TYRED INN
"This is a great place," said Bikey as they sped along. "I've coasted on pretty much every kind of coasting thing there is, and I think I never struck anything like this before. It beats the North Pole all hollow."
"You never coasted on the North Pole, did you?" queried Jimmieboy.
"Oh, didn't I just!" laughed Bikey. "It's made of ice, that North Pole is, and it's so slippery that you can even slide up it – that's awful slippery, when you come to think of it – and as for coming down, well, you'd almost think you were falling off a roof."
"But, wasn't it dangerous?" asked Jimmieboy.
"Not at all," laughed Bikey. "Sliding up you run into the air, and that isn't very hard, and coming down you land in a great snow bank – but this place here is much pleasanter, because it's warmer, and you don't have to exert yourself. That's the great thing about this track. We aren't going at all, though we seem to be – it's the track that makes my wheels go round. It's just a-whizzing, this track is, but we are standing perfectly still. If you should step off on to the road you'd whizz back out of sight in two seconds."
"Well, I won't step off, then," said Jimmieboy a little fearfully; "I don't want to be left up here all by myself."
Silently they went on for at least five minutes, when what should they see before them but a great stone wall, built solidly across the road.
"Hi!" cried Bikey. "Put on the brake – hurry up."
"There isn't one," shrieked Jimmieboy. "I – b – bub – busted it on the lawn mower the day of the accident."
"Back pedal then – back pedal," roared Bikey.
"C – can't gug – get my feet on 'em, they're going so fast," cried Jimmieboy.
"Then p – pup – punk – puncture my tire – take a nail or a pin or anything – or we'll be dashed to pieces."
"Huh! haven't gug – got a nail or a pup – pin or anything," wept Jimmieboy.
"Then we are lost," said Bikey; but just then his tires punctured themselves and they came to a full stop two feet from the stone wall and directly in front of a little hotel, from the front door of which swung a bright red sign on which was the following inscription: —
"My!" ejaculated Bikey as he and Jimmieboy tumbled in a heap before the inn. "That was the narrowest escape I ever had. If we hadn't stopped we'd have been smashed all to bits – leastways I would have – you might have cleared the wall all right."
"Good morning, Biklemen," said a fat, pudgy little old fellow, appearing in the doorway of the inn and bowing profoundly.
"What's that you say?" asked Bikey looking up. "I didn't catch that last word."
"Biklemen," repeated the fat little fellow. "It's a word I invented myself to save time and it signifies gentlemen who ride bicycles. Instead of saying 'good morning, gentlemen who ride bicycles,' I say 'good morning, biklemen, is there anything I can do for you?'"
"Well, I should say there was," retorted Bikey. "Just look at my tires, will you? There are twenty-six punctures in the front one and eighteen in the hind