The daily morning journal and courier., 1896-07-25
THIS BICYCLE IS HAUNTED.


 Up Trying to Ride It, and It Will be
 Destroyed in Self Defence.
 You have doubtless heard many sto- ries about bicycles and their owners in these days when the steed of Steel has supplanted the gentle, easy-going, safe-f -for-a- lady drive family horse, Nowadays every cycler has some yarn or other to tell about the inherent qual- ities of his wheel--qualities which were unheard of and unknown until the un- expected test arose which revealed the presence of those merits. But did you ever hear of bicycle possessing facul- ties of Intelligence, or that which is akin to such faculties-supernatu powers? You never have? Well, there Is such a wheel and it is undoubtedly the only one of it's kind in this vicinity. where there are sixty thousand or more of them ridden daily. The owner of the wheel Is dead, and thereby hangs a tale.
 Across the river in the outskirts of the sleepy little town of Fort Erie, on one of the many country lanes which lead from the village, there is wealth er-beaten little cottage. It is a one-
 
 serves as kitchen. The cottage has long since seen it's palmiest days, and were it not for the preserving, entwin- ing tendrils of ivy which cover it from roof to foundation, 1t would present sorry if not pathetic picture to the oc- casional wanderer in the obscure coun- | try lane where 1t stands. Everything about the place is scrupulously neat and clean, although the meagre posses sions indicate that poverty is not un- known within it's walls.
 | The owner of the place Is an old man | who already has passed several years | beyond his allotted three score and ten. He is a recluse in every sense of tiIe term, and although always kindly and | polite to the stranger visitor, he main- tains shy attitude toward his neigh l bors and avoids contact with them at all times. As g result of this few of the villagers have ever been in the old mans home, and fewer still are they who know aught of the life of old Josi- ah Whitwell
 l Tn the front room of the cottage, carefully hidden from the prying eyes of the curious, under large piece of cotton cloth, is the mysterious bicycle. This is the old mans cherished, most valued and sacred possession. The wheel is clumsy, sixty-pound, solid | tire ordinary, one which was made to order perhaps dozen years ago. The story of the wheel was fresh in the minds of the villagers half score years ago, but 1t has never been told in I print Few speak about it to-day, and l perhaps all have forgotten it, all except l the old man. As told by him. 1t is pa- l thetic. when the circumstances are l taken into consideration Stripped of Josiah Whitwelrs vernacular and rem 1 dered into readable English, it reads | like this:
 When Johnnie Whitwell the old mans only child, was about sixteen years old, he caught the bicycle fever l in it's most violent form, and the ambi- tion of the boy was to possess wheel l which should be all his own. The old 1 man worshipped the boy and would l have done all in his power to aid him in I securing a wheel, but money was scarce in the motherless cottage, and bicycles cost more money in those days l than they do now.
 One day Johnnie came home in a frame of mind which bordered almost on a frenzy He had heard of a sec ond-hand wheel just as good as new" which the owner was willing to sell on time, and, what was better still, was even willing to allow the purchaser to work out the cost of the wheel. John nie had heard about the wheel down at the custom house, where the ferryboat l lands, and had learned that the owner l lived at Chippawa. When old man Whitwell heard the news he could offer no reasonable excuse why Johnnie should not earn the wheel by working for it. and so the next day the lad set out on foot for Chippawa to see the owner of the wheel which he desired to possess That was the last time old man Whitwell saw his boy alive. Johnnie had been gone about week when the father received a. letter say ing that the wheel could be had for sixty dollars cash, or for twelve weeks work at five dollars week in Potter s wood lot Old Abe Potter, now dead, was the owner of the wheel, and his wood lot was a few miles back of Chip pawa in the bush.
 Johnnie went to work with will It was then the fall of '86. and Abe Potter wanted all his available timber cut into cord wood as soon as possible. He had heard that natural gas would soon SUD- plant coal and wood as fuel, and he did not wish to lose any more money than he could help. he decided to sell all of his wood before the introduction of gas would make such sales impossi- ble or of little value.
 There wasn't a prouder, happier boy in all the world than little Johnnie Whitwell when he came into possession of his wheel. There had been a heavy frost the night before, but the Novem- Der sun rose so bright and warm or that day that the little frozen Jumps o1 earth were soon softened and crumple6 to dust. Johnnie left the wood lot about nine o'clock in the morning. H. went to Chippawa, and, after having the wheel turned over to him, ht mounted it and rode away.
 At four o'clock in the afternoon Johnnie had not returned, and the anx. ] ious father. who had been looking fol his boy all day, could stand it nc longer, so he walked down the river
 road to look for him. He went alone until he came to Frenehman's Creek What prompted him he did not know but he stopped a moment to look ovel | tl,o ,-o ;r;,o of +l,o TYridpa and tbora Tyr