Seattle University - Aegis Yearbook (Seattle, WA)

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20 SEATTLE COLLEGE ANNUAL The bright idea that had so suddenly come to Billy’s mind was none other than this: lie would ride the big Royal racer in the place of his brother next Saturday. To be sure he was only sixteen years old and had never ridden in a race in his life but still he had his full share of native American pluck and the more he thought on the subject, the better it looked to him. 1 lastily bidding good-bye to his somewhat perplexed brother he rushed off to the motorcycle shop to confide his plans to his brother’s big Irish mechanic, Mike. Say, Mike,” he announced as he entered, “I’m going to ride in the race myself next Saturday.” The Irishman looked at him shrewdly. And what does your brither say to it, me boy?” he asked. Brian won’t know anything about it till after the race,” was Billy’s answer. “I’ve got to do it for Brian’s sake and you’re going to help me. Mike passed a bit of very greasy waste over his brow in his absent-minded perplexity, thereby decorating his kindly face with a highly ornamental streak of black. Sure, he muttered doubtfully, And I don’t know what to say at all, at all.” Then forget it and don’t say anything,” laughed Bob, and now come out on the track and time me while I take a spin over the big saucer. Fritz will mind the shop,” pointing to a yellowhaired youth who was repairing tires nearby. Quickly the two wheeled their machines out into the street and started for the speedway. The machine which Billy rode and which was the one he intended to ride in the races was certainly far from being beautiful but was just as certainly built for speed. The long, rakish handlebars, conspicuous on a regular motorcycle were absent, short, wide ones being fitted instead. To reduce weight, the machine had been stripped of all mudguards and the seat was merely an ordinary springless bicycle saddle. Furthermore, the machine had no muffler, the exhaust from the big cylinders coming out of the two short pipes with pistol-like reports. Without any doubt. Billy’s machine was a thing of speed and to its young rider a joy forever.”

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lilly “Earn ” A RELY eight clays intervened before the date set for the big motorcycle races when Brian Pen-field, who had been trying out a new and powerful twin cylinder machine, met with a serious accident on the Tacoma speedway while rounding a curve at a little over eighty miles an hour. A hasty examination at the hospital showed his most serious hurt to be a compound fracture of the left leg. The moment he regained consciousness he asked the doctor if he would be able to ride in the races and upon receiving a negative answer, fell back on the pillows with a groan. Brian's desire to ride in the coming races was not based on a love of glory. He had obtained the general agency for the Royal motorcycle in his city and the success or failure of his business depended on his winning the ten mile open event in the races. The Royal was a new and comparatively untried machine and Brian was well aware of the fact that unless he made a record for the machine during the races, all the trade would go to his rival, a man named Coughlin, who was handling a well known and popular machine. As Brian lay groaning on his little cot at the hospital, he saw all his happy hopes vanishing before the clouds of his present misfortune. His gloomy reflections were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of his young brother Billy who, as was only natural, was soon busily engaged in discussing the chances of the Royal in the now fast approaching races. Every possible person who might be able to handle the machine was discussed by the two brothers but all were given up as hopeless. Suddenly a great idea broke over the active mind of the younger boy. “Say! he exclaimed, “why couldn’t and then checked himself just as suddenly. “Why couldn't what? demanded his brother. “O, nothing, was Billy’s lame answer. “I just thought I had an idea but it wasn’t worth speaking of.

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BILLY—“RACER” 21 For about half an hour Billy raced around the track, trying various speeds and different ways of managing the machine and then calling out to Mike to time him, while he went once more around. He opened the throttle still wider and flattened himself down over the gasoline tank as if for the final spurt. Never in his life had he traveled so fast. Everything became indistinct, whirling past him in a vague black blotch, and yet he knew that the machine beneath him was far from wide open. In almost no time he had rounded the big track, and flushed and panting from the exercise, drew up before Mike to learn his time. “Mow'd it go Mike?” he asked. “Ye’ll do me boy; ye’ll do,” the Irishman assured him with a grin. “Whether I’m doin’ right to let you try it, I dunno, but ye’ve got the makins of a foine racer.” “What was the time,” impatiently interrupted Billy. “Fifty flat, but, ye’ve got to do a heap better than that. Tom Coughlin was after doin’ the mile in forty-four and three-fifths yisterday.” Tom Coughlin was the son of Brian’s business competitor. That evening Billy went around to see his brother, and told him that he had found a racer. To all his brother’s inquiries concerning the identity of the new racer lie vouched no answer and his brother being unable to do anything was forced to content himself with the hope that the mysterious rider would make good. At last the eventful Saturday arrived. Everything was in readiness. Billy had worked hard and Mike no less so. The big machine, thanks to the Irishman’s loving care, was tuned up to the last notch of efficiency. By two o’clock the great grandstand was filled with a large and enthusiastic crowd. It was rumored that Brian’s “kid brother” was to ride the Royal in the big event of the day and everybody was accordingly of the opinion that Coughlin would have no opposition.