So Jimmieboy handed over his nickel, and in a moment he and Bikey were speeding along over a beautiful golden road so wide that he could not see the other side of it, and stretching on and on to the fore for thousands of miles. III _A SUDDEN STOP AT THE TYRED INN_ "This is a great place," said Bikey as they sped along. "I've coasted on pretty much every kind of coasting thing there is, and I think I never struck anything like this before. It beats the North Pole all hollow." "You never coasted on the North Pole, did you?" queried Jimmieboy. "Oh, didn't I just!" laughed Bikey. "It's made of ice, that North Pole is, and it's so slippery that you can even slide up it--that's awful slippery, when you come to think of it--and as for coming down, well, you'd almost think you were falling off a roof." "But, wasn't it dangerous?" asked Jimmieboy. "Not at all," laughed Bikey. "Sliding up you run into the air, and that isn't very hard, and coming down you land in a great snow bank--but this place here is much pleasanter, because it's warmer, and you don't have to exert yourself. That's the great thing about this track. We aren't going at all, though we seem to be--it's the track that makes my wheels go round. It's just a-whizzing, this track is, but we are standing perfectly still. If you should step off on to the road you'd whizz back out of sight in two seconds." "Well, I won't step off, then," said Jimmieboy a little fearfully; "I don't want to be left up here all by myself." Silently they went on for at least five minutes, when what should they see before them but a great stone wall, built solidly across the road. "Hi!" cried Bikey. "Put on the brake--hurry up." "There isn't one," shrieked Jimmieboy. "I--b--bub--busted it on the lawn mower the day of the accident." "Back pedal then--back pedal," roared Bikey. "C--can't gug--get my feet on 'em, they're going so fast," cried Jimmieboy. "Then p--pup--punk--puncture my tire--take a nail or a pin or anything--or we'll be dashed to pieces." "Huh! haven't gug--got a nail or a pup--pin or anything," wept Jimmieboy. "Then we are lost," said Bikey; but just then his tires punctured themselves and they came to a full stop two feet from the stone wall and directly in front of a little hotel, from the front door of which swung a bright red sign on which was the following inscription:-- THE TYRED INN FOR THE TIRED OUT. "My!" ejaculated Bikey as he and Jimmieboy tumbled in a heap before the inn. "That was the narrowest escape I ever had. If we hadn't stopped we'd have been smashed all to bits--leastways I would have--you might have cleared the wall all right." "Good morning, Biklemen," said a fat, pudgy little old fellow, appearing in the doorway of the inn and bowing profoundly. "What's that you say?" asked Bikey looking up. "I didn't catch that last word."