“I should think that sort of chemistry would be rather unnecessary,” continued Marcueil, addressing William Elson. “Complex nervous and muscular systems enjoy absolute rest, it seems to me, while their ‘counterpart’ works. We know that, for a bicyclist, each leg in turn rests, and even benefits from a massage that is automatic, and as restorative as any embrocation, while the other leg is doing its work. . .”

“Well now, and where did you learn that?” asked Bathybius. “Surely you don’t ride a bicycle?”

“I am not very well suited to physical exercise, my friend,” answered Marcueil. “I am not nearly spry enough.”

“Bah! This is just cussedness,” muttered the doctor once more. “He just refuses to know anything, both in the physical and the moral field. . . But why? True enough he doesn’t look very well.”

“You may judge the effects of my Perpetual Motion Food without subjecting yourself to the trouble of tasting it, and while simply remaining a spectator at a physical performance,” said William Elson to Marcueil. “The day after tomorrow a race starts in which a bicycle team will be fed on it exclusively. If you will do me the honor of attending the finish. . .”

“What will the team be racing against?” asked Marcueil.

“Against a train,” said Arthur Gough, “and I dare say my locomotive will reach undreamed-of speeds.”

“Really? And are they to race far?” Marcueil inquired.

“Ten thousand miles,” replied Arthur Gough.

“Sixteen thousand and ninety-three kilometers,” explained William Elson.

“Large numbers like that don’t really mean anything,” remarked Henriette Cyne.

“Farther than from Paris to the Sea of Japan,” Arthur Gough clarified. “Since there is not room enough between Paris and Vladivostok for our ten thousand miles exactly, we have put in a curve two thirds of the way down the track, between Irkutsk and Stryensk.”

“And so, in fact,” said Marcueil, “we shall see the finish in Paris, which is all to the good. How many hours will it take?”

“We estimate five days’ traveling time,” replied Arthur Gough.

“That’s a long time,” remarked Marcueil.

The chemist and the engineer suppressed a shrug of their shoulders at this observation, which revealed all the shortcomings of their host.

Marcueil corrected himself:

“I mean, it would be more interesting to follow the race than to wait at the finish.”

“We are taking two sleeping cars along,” said William Elson, “which are at your disposal. The only passengers, apart from the crew, will be my daughter, myself, and Gough.”

“My wife is not going,” said Gough. “She’s too nervous.”

“I don’t know whether I am nervous too,” said Marcueil, “but I’m always sure to be seasick on a train, and to be afraid of accidents, too. In the absence of my sedentary self, let my best wishes accompany you.”

“But you will at least see the finish?” insisted Elson.

“At least the finish, I will try,” acquiesced Marcueil, stressing his words in a bizarre fashion.