"That man's
bear has eaten the tire off one of your wheels!"
"What!" I exclaimed, and my heart bounded within me. Here, perhaps,
was the solution of all my troubles. If by any happy chance my bicycle
had been damaged, of course I could not go on.
"Come and see," she said, and, following her through the back hall
door, we entered a large, enclosed yard. Not far from the house was a
shed, and in front of this lay my bicycle on its side in an apparently
disabled condition. An Italian, greatly agitated, was standing by it.
He was hatless, and his tangled black hair hung over his swarthy face.
At the other end of the yard was a whitish-brown bear, not very large,
and chained to a post.
I approached my bicycle, earnestly hoping that the bear had been
attempting to ride it, but I found that he had been trying to do
something very different. He had torn the pneumatic tire from one of
the wheels, and nearly the whole of it was lying scattered about in
little bits upon the ground.
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