rains of the week
before and the rains of the last two days had converted the road
into a vast ditch. We made our way slowly into it, and then
seizing an opening ran up on to the towpath, which was of sticky
clay and bad enough, but not quite so discouraging as the road. We
felt our way along carefully, for the machine threatened every
moment to slide either into the canal on the left or down the bank
into the road on the right.

Soon we were obliged to turn back to the road and take our chances
on a long steady pull on the slow gear. Again and again it seemed
as if the motor would stop; several times it was necessary to
throw out the clutch, let the motor race, and then throw in the
clutch to get the benefit of both the motor and the momentum of
the two-hundred pound fly-wheel; it was a strain on the chain and
gears, but they held, and the machine would be carried forward ten
or twelve feet by the impetus; in that way the worst spots were
passed.

Towards Utica the roads were better, though we nearly came to
grief in a low place just outside the city.

It required all Wednesday morning to clean and overhaul the
machine. Every crevice was filled with mud, and grit had worked
into the chain and every exposed part. There was also some lost
motion to be taken up to stop a disagreeable pounding. The strain
on the new chain had stretched it so a link had to be taken out.

It was two o'clock before we left Utica. A little beyond the
outskirts of the city the road forks, the right is the road to
Syracuse, and it is gravelled most of the way. Unfortunately, we
took the left fork, and for seven miles ploughed through red clay,
so sticky that several times we just escaped being stalled. It was
not until we reached Clinton that we discovered our mistake and
turned cross country to the right road. The cross-road led through
a low boggy meadow that was covered with water, and there we
nearly foundered. When the hard gravel of the turnpike was
reached, it was with a feeling of irritation that we looked back
upon the time wasted in the horrible roads we need not have taken.

The day was bright, and every hour of sun and wind improved the
roads, so that by the time we were passing Oneida Castle the going
was good. It was dark when we passed through Fayetteville; a
little beyond our reserve gallon of gasoline was put in the tank
and the run was made over the toll-road to Syracuse on "short
rations."

A well-kept toll-road is a