The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces | Page 3

before election. She may have fallen in with some political parade, and is waiting to get across the street.
Bradley (aside). Well, I like that!
Mrs. Perkins (aside). Why--it's awful!
Yardsley. Or she may possibly have punctured her tire--that would delay her fifteen or twenty minutes. Don't worry, my dear boy. I showed her how to fix a punctured tire all right. It's simple enough--you take the rubber thing they give you and fasten it in that metal thingumbob, glue it up, poke it in, pull it out, pump her up, and there you are.
Bradley (scornfully). You told her that, did you?
Yardsley. I did.
Bradley (with a mock sigh of relief). You don't know what a load you've taken off my mind.
Barlow (looking at his watch). H'm! Thaddeus, it's nine o'clock. I move we go out and have the lesson. Eh? The moon is just right.
Yardsley. Yes--we can't begin too soon. Wheel all right?
Perkins. Guess so--I'm ready.
Bradley. I'll go out to the corner and see if there's any sign of Mrs. Bradley. [Exit.
Mrs. Perkins (who has been gazing out of window for some moments). I do wish Emma would come. I can't understand how women can do these things. Riding down here all alone at night! It is perfectly ridiculous!
Yardsley (rolling Perkins's wheel into middle of room). Czar wheel, eh?
Perkins (meekly). Yes--best going--they tell me.
Barlow. Can't compare with the Alberta. Has a way of going to pieces like the "one-hoss shay"--eh, Bob?
Yardsley. Exactly--when you least expect it, too--though the Alberta isn't much better. You get coasting on either of 'em, and half-way down, bang! the front wheel collapses, hind wheel flies up and hits you in the neck, handle-bar turns just in time to stab you in the chest; and there you are, miles from home, a physical, moral, bicycle wreck. But the Arena wheel is different. In fact, I may say that the only safe wheel is the Arena. That's the one I ride. However, at fifty dollars this one isn't extravagant.
Perkins. I paid a hundred.
Yardsley. A wha--a--at?
Perkins. Hundred.
Barlow. Well you are a--a--good fellow. It's a pretty wheel, anyhow. Eh, Bob?
Yardsley. Simple beauty. Is she pumped up?
Perkins. Beg your pardon?
Yardsley. Pumped up, tires full and tight--ready for action--support an elephant?
Perkins. Guess so--my--I mean, the agent said it was perfect.
Yardsley. Extra nuts?
Perkins. What?
Yardsley. Extra nuts--nuts extra. Suppose you lose a nut, and your pedal comes off; what you going to do--get a tow?
Barlow. Guess Perkins thinks this is like going to sleep.
Perkins. I don't know anything about it. What I'm after is information; only, I give you warning, I will not ride so as to get round shoulders.
Yardsley. Then where's your wrench? Screw up your bar, hoist your handles, elevate your saddle, and you're O.K. What saddle have you?
Perkins (tapping it). This.
Barlow. Humph! Not very good--but we'll try it. Come on. It's getting late.
[They go out. Perkins reluctantly. In a moment he returns alone, and, rushing to Mrs. Perkins, kisses her affectionately.
Perkins. Good-bye, dearest.
Mrs. Perkins. Good-bye. Don't hurt yourself, Thaddeus. [Exit Perkins.
Mrs. Perkins (leaving window and looking at clock on mantel). Ten minutes past nine and Emma not here yet. It does seem too bad that she should worry Ed so much just for independence' sake. I am quite sure I should never want to ride a wheel anyhow, and even if I did--
Enter Yardsley hurriedly, with a piece of flannel in his hand.
Yardsley. I beg pardon, Mrs. Perkins, but have you a shawl-strap in the house?
Mrs. Perkins (tragically). What is that you have in your hand, Mr. Yardsley?
Yardsley (with a glance at the piece of flannel). That? Oh--ha-ha-- that--that's a--ah--a piece of flannel.
Mrs. Perkins (snatching the flannel from Yardsley's hand). But Teddy--isn't that a piece of Teddy's--Teddy's shirt?
Yardsley. More than that, Mrs. Perkins. It's the greater part of Teddy's shirt. That's why we want the shawl-strap. When we started him off, you know, he took his coat off. Jack held on to the wheel, and I took Teddy in the fulness of his shirt. One--two--three! Teddy put on steam--Barlow let go--Teddy went off--I held on--this is what remained. It ruined the shirt, but Teddy is safe. (Aside.) Barring about sixty or seventy bruises.
Mrs. Perkins (with a faint smile). And the shawl-strap?
Yardsley. I want to fasten it around Teddy's waist, grab hold of the handle, and so hold him up. He's all right, so don't you worry. (Exit Mrs. Perkins in search of shawl-strap.) Guess I'd better not say anything about the Pond's Extract he told me to bring--doesn't need it, anyhow. Man's got to get used to leaving pieces of his ankle-bone on the curb-stone if he wants to learn to ride a wheel. Only worry her if I asked her for it--won't hurt him to suffer a week.
Enter Bradley.
Bradley. Has she come yet?
Yardsley. No--just gone up-stairs for a shawl-strap.
Bradley. Shawl-strap? Who?
Perkins (outside).