The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces

Mrs. Perkins (walking to window).  Why, Thaddeus, he’s going like the wind down the street!

Perkins.  Heaven help him when he comes to the river!

Barlow (rushing in).  Here we are in trouble again.  Brad’s gone off on my wheel.  Bob’s taken his, and your tire’s punctured.  He doesn’t know the first thing about turning or stopping, and I can’t run fast enough to catch him.  One member of the family is in jail—the other on a runaway wheel!

[Yardsley appears at door.  Assumes attitude of butler announcing guest.

Yardsley.  Missus Willerby ’Awkins!

Enter Mrs. Bradley, hysterical.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, Edward!

[Throws herself into Barlow’s arms.

Barlow (quietly).  Excuse me—ah—Mrs. Hawkins—ah—Bradley—but I’m not—I’m not your husband.

Mrs. Bradley (looking up, tragically).  Where’s Edward?

Mrs. Perkins.  Sit down, dear—you must be completely worn out.

Mrs. Bradley (in alarm).  Where is he?

Perkins (rising and standing on one leg).  Fact is, Mrs. Bradley—we don’t know.  He disappeared ten minutes ago.

Yardsley.  What do you mean?

Mrs. Bradley.  Disappeared?

Barlow.  Yes.  He went east—at the rate of about a mile a minute.

Mrs. Bradley.  My husband—went east?  Mile a minute?

Perkins.  Yes, on a bike.  Yardsley, take me by the shawl-strap, will you, and help me over to that chair; my back hurts so I can’t lie down.

Mrs. Bradley.  Ned—on a wheel?  Why, he can’t ride!

Barlow.  Oh yes, he can.  What I’m afraid of is that he can’t stop riding.

Bradley (outside).  Hi—Barlow—help!

Mrs. Bradley.  That’s his voice—he called for help.

Yardsley (rushing to window).  Hi—Brad—stop!  Your wife’s here.

Bradley (in distance).  Can’t stop—don’t know how—

Barlow (leaning out of window).  By Jove! he’s turned the corner all right.  If he keeps on around, we can catch him next time he passes.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, do, do stop him.  I’m so afraid he’ll be hurt.

Mrs. Perkins (looking out).  I can just see him on the other side of the square—and, oh dear me!—his lamp is out.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, Mr. Yardsley—Mr. Barlow—Mr. Perkins—do stop him!

[By this time all are gazing out of window, except Perkins, who is nursing his ankle.

Perkins.  I guess not.  I’m not going to lie down in the road, or sit in the road, or stand in the road to stop him or anybody else.  I don’t believe I’ve got a sound bone left; but if I have, I’m going to save it, if Bradley kills himself.  If his lamp’s out the police will stop him.  Why not be satisfied with that?

Bradley (passing the window).  For Heaven’s sake! one of you fellows stop me.

Yardsley.  Put on the brake.

Barlow.  Fall off.  It hasn’t got a brake.

Bradley (despairingly, in distance).  Can’t.

Mrs. Perkins.  This is frightful.

Perkins (with a grimace at his ankle).  Yes; but there are other fearful things in this world.

Mrs. Bradley.  I shall go crazy if he isn’t stopped.  He’ll kill himself.

Yardsley (leaving window hurriedly).  I have it.  Got a length of clothes-line, Mrs. Perkins?

Barlow.  What the dickens—

Mrs. Perkins.  Yes.

[She rushes from the room.

Mrs. Bradley.  What for?

Yardsley.  I’ll lasso him, next time he comes around.

Perkins (with a grin).  There’ll be two of us!  We can start a hospital on the top floor.

Mrs. Perkins (returning).  Here—here’s the line.

[Yardsley takes it hurriedly, and, tying it into a noose, hastens out.

Perkins (rising).  If I never walk again, I must see this.  [Limps to window.

Mrs. Bradley.  He’s coming, Mr. Yardsley; don’t miss him.

Barlow.  Steady, Bob; get in the light.

Mrs. Perkins.  Suppose it catches his neck?

Perkins.  This beats the Wild West Show.

[A crash.

All.  He’s got him.

[All rush out, except Perkins.

Perkins.  Oh yes; he learned in a minute, he did.  Easy!  Ha, ha!  Gad! it almost makes me forget my pain.

Enter all, asking.  “Is he hurt?  How do you feel?” etc.  Yardsley has rope-end in right hand; noose is tied about Bradley’s body, his coat and clothing are much the worse for wear.

Mrs. Bradley.  Poor, dear Edward!

Bradley (weakly kissing her).  Don’t m-mind me.  I—I’m all right—only a little exhilarated—and somewhat—er—somewhat breathless.  Feel like a bird—on toast.  Yardsley, you’re a brick.  But that pavement—that was a pile of ’em, and the hardest I ever encountered.  I always thought asphalt was soft—who said asphalt was soft?

Perkins.  Easy to learn, though, eh?

Bradley.  Too easy.  I’d have gone on—er—forever—er—if it hadn’t been for Bob.

Mrs. Bradley.  I’ll give it up, Ned dear, if you say so.

Mrs. Perkins (affectionately).  That’s sweet of you, Emma.

Bradley.  No, indeed, you won’t, for—er—I—I rather like it while it’s going on, and when I learn to get off—

Yardsley.  Which you will very shortly.

Barlow.  You bet! he’s a dandy.  I taught him.

Bradley.  I think I’ll adore it.

Perkins.  Buy a Czar wheel, Brad.  Best in the market; weighs only twenty pounds.  I’ve got one with a ki-yi pump and a pneumatic gun you can have for ten dollars.

Jennie (at the door).  Supper is served ma’am.  [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins.  Let us go out and restore our nerves.  Come, Emma.

[She and Mrs. Bradley walk out.

Yardsley (aside).  I say, Brad, you owe me five.

Bradley.  What for?

Yardsley.  Bail.

Barlow.  Cheap too.

Yardsley.  Very.  I think he ought to open a bottle besides.

Perkins.  I’ll attend to the bottles.  We’ll have three.

Barlow.  Two will be enough.

Perkins.  Three—two of fizz for you and Bob and the ladies, and if Bradley will agree, I’ll split a quart of Pond’s Extract with him.

Bradley.  I’ll go you.  I think I could take care of the whole quart myself.

Perkins.  Then we’ll make it four bottles.

Mrs. Perkins (appearing at door with her arm about Mrs. Bradley).  Aren’t you coming?

Perkins (rising with difficulty).  As fast as we can, my dear.  We’ve been taking lessons, you know, and can’t move as rapidly as the rest of you.  We’re a trifle—ah—a trifle tired.  Yardsley, you tow Bradley into the dining room; and, Barlow, kindly pretend I’m a shawl, will you, and carry me in.

Bradley.  I’ll buy a wheel to-morrow.

Perkins.  Don’t, Brad.  I—I’ll give you mine.  Fact is, old man, I don’t exactly like feeling like a bird.

[They go out, and as the last, Perkins and Bradley, disappear stiffly through the portières, the curtain falls.

A DRAMATIC EVENING

CHARACTERS:

MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, a victim.

MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, a friend in disguise.

MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, an amiable villain.

MR. JOHN BARLOW, the amiable villain’s assistant.

MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, a martyr.

MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, a woman of executive ability.

JENNIE, a housemaid.

The scene is placed in the drawing-room of Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, of New York.  The time is a Saturday evening in the early spring, and the hour is approaching eight.  The curtain, rising, discovers Perkins, in evening dress, reading a newspaper by the light of a lamp on the table.  Mrs. Perkins is seated on the other side of the table, buttoning her gloves.  Her wrap is on a chair near at hand.  The room is gracefully over-furnished.

Mrs. Perkins.  Where are the seats, Thaddeus?

Perkins.  Third row; and, by Jove!  Bess (looking at his watch), we must hurry.  It is getting on towards eight now.  The curtain rises at 8.15.

Mrs. Perkins.  The carriage hasn’t come yet.  It isn’t more than a ten minutes’ drive to the theatre.

Perkins.  That’s true, but there are so many carriage-folk going to see Irving that if we don’t start early we’ll find ourselves on the end of the line, and the first act will be half over before we can reach our seats.

Mrs. Perkins.  I’m so glad we’ve got good seats—down near the front.  I despise opera-glasses, and seats under the galleries are so oppressive.

Perkins.  Well, I don’t know.  For The Lyons Mail I think a seat in the front row of the top gallery, where you can cheer virtue and hiss villany without making yourself conspicuous, is the best.

Mrs. Perkins.  You don’t mean to say that you’d like to sit up with those odious gallery gods?

Perkins.  For a melodrama, I do.  What’s the use of clapping your gloved hands together at a melodrama?  That doesn’t express your feelings.  I always want to put two fingers in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see the villain laid low by the tow-headed idiot in the last act—but it wouldn’t do in the orchestra.  You might as well expect the people in the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orchestra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers.

Mrs. Perkins.  I should die of mortification if you ever should do such a vulgar thing, Thaddeus.

Perkins.  Then you needn’t be afraid, my dear.  I’m too fond of you to sacrifice you to my love for whistling.  (The front-door bell rings.)  Ah, there is the carriage at last.  I’ll go and get my coat.

[Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes towards the door.

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley.  Perkins staggers backward in surprise.  Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of dismay on her face.

Mrs. Perkins (aside).  Dear me!  I’d forgotten all about it.  This is the night the club is to meet here!

Bradley.  Ah, Perkins, how d’ y’ do?  Glad to see me?  Gad! you don’t look it.

Perkins.  Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings, Bradley.  I—I’m simply de-lighted.  (Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has been greeting Mrs. Bradley.)  Here’s a kettle of fish.  We must get rid of them, or we’ll miss The Lyons Mail.

Mrs. Bradley.  You two are always so formal.  The idea of your putting on your dress suit, Thaddeus!  It’ll be ruined before we are half through this evening.

Bradley.  Certainly, Perkins.  Why, man, when you’ve been moving furniture and taking up carpets and ripping out fireplaces for an hour or two that coat of yours will be a rag—a veritable rag that the ragman himself would be dubious about buying.

Perkins (aside).  Are these folk crazy?  Or am I?  (Aloud.)  Pulling up fireplaces?  Moving out furniture?  Am I to be dispossessed?

Mrs. Bradley.  Not by your landlord, but you know what amateur dramatics are.

Bradley.  I doubt it.  He wouldn’t have let us have ’em here if he had known.

Perkins.  Amateur—amateur dramatics?

Mrs. Perkins.  Certainly, Thaddeus.  You know we offered our parlor for the performance.  The audience are to sit out in the hall.

Perkins.  Oh—ah!  Why, of course!  Certainly!  It had slipped my mind; and—ah—what else?

Bradley.  Why, we’re here to-night to arrange the scene.  Don’t tell us you didn’t know it.  Bob Yardsley’s coming, and Barlow.  Yardsley’s a great man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so pleasantly that you don’t know you’re being ordered about like a slave.  I believe he could persuade a man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he wanted it done, he’s so insinuatingly lovely about it all.

Perkins (absently).  I’ll get a hammer.  [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins (aside).  I must explain to Thaddeus.  He’ll never forgive me.  (Aloud.)  Thaddeus is so forgetful that I don’t believe he can find that hammer, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll go help him.  [Exit.

Bradley.  Wonder what’s up?  They don’t quarrel, do they?

Mrs. Bradley.  I don’t believe any one could quarrel with Bessie Perkins—not even a man.

Bradley.  Well, they’re queer.  Acted as if they weren’t glad to see us.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, that’s all your imagination.  (Looks about the room.)  That table will have to be taken out, and all these chairs and cabinets; and the rug will never do.

Bradley.  Why not?  I think the rug will look first-rate.

Mrs. Bradley.  A rug like that in a conservatory?  [A ring at the front-door bell is heard.

Bradley.  Ah! maybe that’s Yardsley.  I hope so.  If Perkins and his wife are out of sorts we want to hurry up and get through.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, we’ll be through by twelve o’clock.

Enter Yardsley and Barlow.

Yardsley.  Ah! here we are at last.  The wreckers have arrove.  Where’s Perkins?

Barlow.  Taken to the woods, I fancy.  I say, Bob, don’t you think before we begin we’d better give Perkins ether?  He’ll suffer dreadful agony.

Enter Mrs. Perkins, wiping her eyes.

Mrs. Perkins.  How do you do, Mr. Barlow? and you, Mr. Yardsley?  So glad to see you.  Thaddeus will be down in a minute.  He—ah—he forgot about the—the meeting here to-night, and he—he put on his dress-coat.

Yardsley.  Bad thing to lift a piano in.  Better be without any coat.  But I say we begin—eh?  If you don’t mind, Mrs. Perkins.  We’ve got a great deal to do, and unfortunately hours are limited in length as well as in number.  Ah! that fireplace must be covered up.  Wouldn’t do to have a fireplace in a conservatory.  Wilt all the flowers in ten minutes.

Mrs. Perkins (meekly).  You needn’t have the fire lit, need you?

Barlow.  No—but—a fireplace without fire in it seems sort of—of bald, don’t you think?

Yardsley.  Bald?  Splendid word applied to a fireplace.  So few fireplaces have hair.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, it could be covered up without any trouble, Bessie.  Can’t we have those dining-room portières to hang in front of it?

Yardsley.  Just the thing.  Dining-room portières always look well, whether they’re in a conservatory or a street scene.  (Enter Perkins.)  Hello, Thaddeus!  How d’ y’?  Got your overalls on?

Perkins (trying to appear serene).  Yes.  I’m ready for anything.  Anything I can do?

Bradley.  Yes—look pleasant.  You look as if you were going to have your picture taken, or a tooth pulled.  Haven’t you a smile you don’t need that you can give us?  This isn’t a funeral.

Perkins (assuming a grin).  How’ll that do?

Barlow.  First-rate.  We’ll have to make you act next.  That’s the most villanous grin I ever saw.

Yardsley.  I’ll write a tragedy to go with it.  But I say, Thad, we want those dining-room portières of yours.  Get ’em down for us, will you?

Perkins.  Dining-room portières!  What for?

Mrs. Perkins.  They all think the fireplace would better be hid, Thaddeus, dear.  It wouldn’t look well in a conservatory.

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