g wheels up into the Black Forest, growing weary
of my loneliness--for it is not all jam to ride by oneself in
Germany--and longing for Elsie to come out and join me. I loved to think
how her dear pale cheeks would gain colour and tone on the hills about
the Bruenig, where, for business reasons (so I said to myself with the
conscious pride of the commission agent), I proposed to pass the greater
part of the summer.

From Offenburg to Hornberg the road makes a good stiff climb of
twenty-seven miles, and some 1200 English feet in altitude, with a fair
number of minor undulations on the way to diversify it. I will not
describe the route, though it is one of the most beautiful I have ever
travelled--rocky hills, ruined castles, huge, straight-stemmed pines
that clamber up green slopes, or halt in sombre line against steeps of
broken crag; the reality surpasses my poor powers of description. And
the people I passed on the road were almost as quaint and picturesque
in their way as the hills and the villages--the men in red-lined
jackets; the women in black petticoats, short-waisted green bodices, and
broad-brimmed straw hats with black-and-crimson pompons. But on the
steepest gradient, just before reaching Hornberg, I got my first
nibble--strange to say, from two German students; they wore Heidelberg
caps, and were toiling up the incline with short, broken wind; I put on
a spurt with the Manitou, and passed them easily. I did it just at first
in pure wantonness of health and strength; but the moment I was clear of
them, it occurred to the business half of me that here was a good chance
of taking an order. Filled with this bright idea, I dismounted near the
summit, and pretended to be engaged in lubricating my bearings; though
as a matter of fact the Manitou runs in a bath of oil, self-feeding, and
needs no looking after. Presently, my two Heidelbergers straggled
up--hot, dusty, panting. Woman-like, I pretended to take no notice. One
of them drew near and cast an eye on the Manitou.

'That's a new machine, Fraeulein,' he said, at last, with more politeness
than I expected.

'It is,' I answered, casually; 'the latest model. Climbs hills like no
other.' And I feigned to mount and glide off towards Hornberg.

'Stop a moment, pray, Fraeulein,' my prospective buyer called out. 'Here,
Heinrich, I wish you this new so excellent mountain-climbing machine,
without chain propelled, more fully to investigate.'

'I am going on to Hor