Seattle University - Aegis Yearbook (Seattle, WA)

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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.

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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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22 SEATTLE COLLEGE ANNUAL Several minor races were run off and then at last, six chugging machines lined up for the last and the big event of the day, the “ten mile open. The pistol cracked and a chorus of pistol shots rang out in answer as the six sputtering machines swept down the track in a bunch. Billy singled out Coughlin, the only rival he really feared, and stuck to him like a burr. On they went, Coughlin in the lead, Billy a bare half length behind, and the others twenty feet in the rear. Slowly Coughlin increased his pace. For three laps the machines remained in comparatively the same positions, Billy keeping his position with ease though the speed was constantly increasing. Suddenly he heard the roaring of two other machines, one on each side. Quick as a flash, he saw what that meant. Coughlin had plotted with the two other riders to “box up” the Royal if it proved dangerous. Realizing the necessity of prompt action, Billy, with a jerk of his wrist, opened the throttle wider than ever before. In a moment he had flashed by Coughlin but in a moment Coughlin, who still had some reserve power, once more took the lead. The machines were again in their first positions. The race, contrary to expectation, was many removes from a tame event. The great crowd was now all on Billy’s side and cheered him wildly every time he flashed past the grandstand. “The kid’s riding a great race, was the comment of one onlooker, “but he can’t quite hold Coughlin. His machine hasn’t got it in her.” But the speaker did not know what Billy knew, that the good old Royal had never yet done her best. For the eighth time they whizzed past the stand. It was a rush and a roar, a fleeting glimpse of two determined figures crouched low over the tanks and they were gone. Such speed had never before been seen on the Tacoma track, and the crowd was wild with excitement. Now they had begun the last mile. Billy, his heart thumping as if to rival his engine, slowly opened the throttle to