ABSTRACT
The Cyclists’ Touring Club, it would appear, is profoundly divided on the subject of ‘rationals,’ and that chasm goes deep down into the great heart of the people. Mrs. Sprague, who sees a good many of various sorts year in and year out, asseverates that it would ruin her business if they were admitted within the sanctity of her coffee-room. But even she, dragon of morality though she is, can discriminate between ‘rationals’ that are rational and rationals that are not. She draws the line at knickerbockers unless they are covered with a skirt, which some ladies carry with them for the purpose, and – this is an article of licensed victualling faith with her – she ‘cannot abear’ skin tights. It is really, even for those of people who have not to look at the attire of the feminine fellow-creatures with an eye to business, a question of degree and place.
