A Good Story If True

Wm. Stickelmaier, of Aun Arbor, has abicycle which is painted a brigb.1 red color. A few days ago he ruouutec the machine and went sailing dowa Pontiac street in that city whistling "The Girl I Left Behind Me," with liquid pathos and great gayness of spirit. Suddenly he heard a terrific bellow and glancing in the direction of the sound he saw a brindle buil leap out of a stable yard and start for that blood-hued 42-inch humnier. The bovine run up his narrative in regular war style, his eyes stuck out of their port holes se veralinches and hisleveled horns proclaimed to the world that he ached for a muss. Bill saw the point and began to bear down spasmodically on the cranks until his whizzing feet assumed the appearance of a revolving wheel. Prompted by a laudable ambi tion to not be overtaken and forced into a rumpus, he strained every nerve ;o keep anead and preserve his repu;atiou as a good law-abiding citizen. The bedlam proöuced by the bellowing buil was contagious. Dogs shot away n pursuit yelping like mad. boysyelled ind wonien yanked open their doors uid screamed, "did you ever!" Even great big able-bodied men doubled up uid laughed and liowled unid their laroxy.sms, '-tluow the tjhrottle wide open, lïilly: ' "IIe"s gainin' on yer, "ïu-o to one on brindle!" Win the spurt if yer can, Wil-li-am!" etc. The pcforlïbllow, hatless, out of breath and with a look of terror, suddenly drew up to a fence, threw the wheel over, then leaped over himself and left the buil to paw divt on the otlier sitie.