The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces, John Kendrick Bangs [best short novels of all time .txt] 📗

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). Hurry up with that Pond's Extract, will you?

Yardsley. All right--coming. Who? Who what?

Bradley. Who has gone up-stairs after shawl-strap--my wife?

Yardsley. No, no, no. Hasn't she got here yet? It's Mrs. Perkins. Perk fell off just now and broke in two. We want to fasten him together.

Barlow (outside). Bring out that pump. His wheel's flabby.

Enter Mrs. Perkins with shawl-strap.

Mrs. Perkins. Here it is. What did I hear about Pond's Extract? Didn't somebody call for it?

Yardsley. No--oh no--not a bit of it! What you heard was shawl- strap--sounds like extract--very much like it. In fact--

Bradley. But you did say you wanted--

Yardsley (aside to Bradley). Shut up! Thaddeus banged his ankle, but he'll get over it in a minute. She'd only worry. The best bicyclers in the world are all the time falling off, taking headers, and banging their ankles.

Bradley. Poor Emma!

Enter Barlow.

Barlow. Where the deuce is that Ex--

Yardsley (grasping him by the arm and pushing him out). Here it is; this is the ex-strap, just what we wanted. (Aside to Bradley.) Go down to the drug-store and get a bottle of Pond's, will you? [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins (walking to window). She can't be long in coming now.

Bradley. I guess I'll go out to the corner again. (Aside.) Best bicyclers always smashing ankles, falling off, taking headers! If I ever get hold of Emma again, I'll see whether she'll ride that-- [Rushes out.

Mrs. Perkins. It seems to have made these men crazy. I never saw such strange behavior in all my life. (The telephone-bell rings.) What can that be? (Goes to 'phone, which stands just outside parlor door.) Hello! What? Yes, this is 1181--yes. Who are you? What? Emma? Oh dear, I'm so glad! Are you alive? Where are you? What? _Where_? _The police-station_! (Turning from telephone.) Thaddeus, Mr. Barlow, Mr. Yardsley. (Into telephone.) Hello! What for? What? Riding without a lamp! Arrested at Forty-second Street! Want to be bailed out? (Drops receiver. Rushes into parlor and throws herself on sofa.) To think of it--Emma Bradley! (Telephone-bell rings violently again; Mrs. Perkins goes to it.) Hello! Yes. Tell Ed what? To ask for Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins. Who's she? What, _you_! (Drops the receiver; runs to window.) Thaddeus! Mr. Yardsley! Mr. Barlow!--all of you come here, quick.

[They rush in. Perkins with shawl-strap about his waist--limping. Barlow has large air-pump in his hand. Mrs. Perkins grows faint.

Perkins. Great heavens! What's the matter?

Barlow. Get some water--quick!

[Yardsley runs for water.

Mrs. Perkins. Air! Give me air!

Perkins (grabbing pump from Barlow's hand). Don't stand there like an idiot! Act! She wants air!

[Places pump on floor and begins to pump air at her.

Barlow. Who's the idiot now? Wheel her over to the window. She's not a bicycle.

They do so. Mrs. Perkins revives.

Perkins. What is the matter?

Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins--arrested--Forty-second Street--no lamp--bailed out. Oh, dear me, dear me! It'll all be in the papers!

Perkins. What's that got to do with us? Who's Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins?

Mrs. Perkins. Emma! Assumed name.

Barlow. Good Lord! Mrs. Bradley in jail?

Perkins. This is a nice piece of--ow--my ankle, my ankle!

[Enter Bradley and Yardsley at same time, Bradley with bottle of Pond's Extract, Yardsley with glass of water.

Bradley. Where the deuce did you fellows go to? I've been wandering all over the square looking for you.

Perkins. Your wife--

Bradley (dropping bottle). What? What about her--hurt?

Mrs. Perkins. Worse! [Sobs.

Bradley. Killed?

Mrs. Perkins. Worse--l-lol-locked up--in jail--no bail--wants to be lamped out.

Bradley. Great heavens! Where?--when? What next? Where's my hat?-- what'll the baby say? I must go to her at once.

Yardsley. Hold on, old man. Let me go up. You're too excited. I know the police captain. You stay here, and I'll run up and fix it with him. If you go, he'll find out who Mrs. Hawkins is; you'll get mad, and things will be worse than ever.

Bradley. But--

Barlow. No buts, my dear boy. You just stay where you are. Yardsley's right. It would be an awful grind on you if this ever became known. Bob can fix it up in two minutes with the captain, and Mrs. Bradley can come right back with him. Besides, he can get there in five minutes on his wheel. It will take you twenty on the cars.

Yardsley. Precisely. Meanwhile, Brad, you'd better learn to ride the wheel, so that Mrs. B. won't have to ride alone. This ought to be a lesson to you.

Perkins. Bully idea (rubbing his ankle). You can use my wheel to- night--I--I think I've had enough for the present. (Aside.) The pavements aren't soft enough for me; and, O Lord! what a stony curb that was!

Bradley. I never thought I'd get so low.

Yardsley. Well, it seems to me that a man with a wife in jail needn't be too stuck up to ride a bicycle. But--by-by--I'm off. [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins. Poor Emma--out for freedom, and lands in jail. What horrid things policemen are, to arrest a woman!

Bradley (indignantly). Served her right! If women won't obey the law they ought to be arrested, the same as men. If she wasn't my wife, I'd like to see her sent up for ten years or even twenty years. Women have got no business--

Barlow. Don't get mad, Brad. If you knew the fascination of the wheel you wouldn't blame her a bit.

Bradley (calming down). Well--I suppose it has some fascination.

Perkins (anxious to escape further lessons). Oh, indeed, it's a most exhilarating sensation: you seem to be flying like a bird over the high-ways. Try it, Ned. Go on, right away. You don't know how that little ride I had braced me up.

Barlow (wish a laugh). There! Hear that! There's a man who's ridden only eight inches in all his life--and he says he felt like a bird!

Perkins (aside). Yes--like a spring chicken split