Chapter 2

Motorists are still expressing their indignation at a recent disgraceful incident when one of their number, because he could not pay a fine at once, was taken to prison, and forced to don ugly convict garb in the place of his becoming goggles and motor coat.

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Illustration: _Engineer._ "There's certainly a screw loose somewhere."

_Simple Simon_ (_with gleeful satisfaction_). "He-he! I knaws where 't be too!"

_Car Owner_ (_intensely interested_). "What do you mean, boy?"

_Simple Simon._ "He-he! Why I've got 'un! All the folks say as 'ow I've got a screw loose somewheres!"

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WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS

_Dialogue between two Young Gentlemen, dressed in Knickerbocker Suits, Gaiters, and Golf caps. They have the indescribable air which proclaims the votary of the "Bike"._

_First Young Gentleman._ Yes; I certainly agree with the French view of it. Cycling shouldn't be indulged in without care.

_Second Y. G._ They say in Paris that no one should become an habitual cyclist without "medical authorisation."

_First Y. G._ Yes. Quite right. Then, when you are permitted, you ought to travel at a moderate pace. About five miles an hour is quite enough for a beginner.

_Second Y. G._ Enough! Why, too much! You can't be too careful! Then, if you break off for a time, you ought to begin all over again. You should "gradually acquire speed"; not rush at it!

_First Y. G._ Certainly. I read in the _Lancet_ only the other day that merely increasing the pace of a bike a couple of miles an hour was sufficient to send up the normal pulse to 150!

_Second Y. G._ Most alarming! And yet I can see from your costume you are a cyclist.

_First Y. G._ Not at all. I am pleased with the costume, and, like yourself, have adopted it. Now do not laugh at me. But, between ourselves, I have never been on a bicycle in my life!

_Second Y. G._ No more have I! [_Curtain._

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Illustration: "ENOUGH IS AS GOOD AS A FEAST."--_Nervous Lady Cyclist._ "I hope it isn't very deep here."

_Ferryman._ "Sax hunderd an' fefty-nine feet, Miss."

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The provincial journal which, the other day, published the following paragraph:--"Private letters from Madagascar state that two cyclists have visited the island, causing the loss of 200 lives and immense damage to property," and followed it up with a leader virulently attacking motor-cyclists, now informs us that the word should have been "cyclones." The printer has been warned.

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"Anti-Motor" writes to point out that one advantage of holding motor races like those that have just taken place in Ireland is that after each race there are fewer motors.

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THE TRAIL OF THE MOTOR.--"COLLECTOR.

Young man wants collecting."--_Advt. in Provincial Paper._

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Illustration: _Old Farmer Jones_ (_who has been to a local cattle-show, and seen a horseless carriage for the first time_). "Mosher carsh may be all very well--(_hic!_)--but they can't find 'er way home by 'emshelves!"

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SHOULD MOTORISTS WEAR MASKS?

["Plus de lunettes spéciales pour MM. les chauffeurs. Ils devront conduire comme les cochers ordinaires à yeux nus ou avec les lunettes ordinaires de myopes ou de presbytes. Nos sportsmen déclarent que ces lunettes de motoristes favorisent l'anonymat. Ces lunettes sont de véritables masques. On fait sous ce masque ce qu'on n'oserait pas faire à visage découvert. En France il est défendu de se masquer en dehors du temps de carnaval ... si le masque tombe, la vitesse des motors deviendra fatalement normale."--_M. N. de Noduwez in the "Times."_]

MR. PUNCH has collected a few brief opinions upon the subject of the above-quoted letter.

MR. KIPLING writes: "Through dirt, sweat, burns, bursts, smells, bumps, breakdowns, and explosions I have attained to the perfect joy of the scorcher. I have suffered much on the southern British highways. My Tibetan devil-mask shall therefore add to their terrors. Besides, I wore gig-lamps at school. What do they know of Sussex who only Burwash know?"

MR. BEERBOHM TREE telephones: "The most beautiful of all arts is that of make-up. We cannot all resemble _Caliban_, but why should not the motorist aspire in that direction? Life is but a masque, and all roads lead to 'His Majesty's.'"

Miss MARIE CORELLI telegraphs: "I am all for anonymity and everything that tends to the avoidance of advertisement. If people must ride in motors, let them have the decency to disguise themselves as effectually as possible, and shun all contact with their kind."

Mr. JEM SMITH, cabdriver, in the course of an interview, said: "Masks? Not 'arf! Let 'em out on the Fifth of November, and throw a match in their oil-tanks--that's what _I_'d do! _I_'d anonymous the lot of 'em!"

POLICEMAN XX. (in the _rôle_ of a labourer behind a hedge on the Brighton road): "'Oo are you a-gettin' at? Do you see any mote in my eye? If you want to know the time, I've a stop-watch!"

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Illustration: DIVISION OF LABOUR.--It is not the business of ducal footmen to clean the family bicycles. The ladies Ermyntrude and Adelgitha have to do it themselves.

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_Enthusiastic Motorist_ (_to Perfect Stranger_). _I_ swear by petrol, sir; always use it myself. Now what, may I ask, do _you_ use?

_Perfect Stranger._ Oats!

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Illustration: JUGGERNAUTICAL.--_Unfortunate Cyclist_ (_who has been bowled over by motor-car_). "Did you see the number?"

_Jarge._ "Yes, there was three on 'em. Two men and a woman."

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Illustration: EXPECTATION.--The Browns welcoming the Robinsons (awfully jolly people, don't you know,) from whom they have had a letter saying that they will arrive early in the day by motor.

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Illustration: REALISATION.--The Browns, when the arrivals have removed their motor glasses, etc., disclosing not the Robinsons, but those awful bores, the Smiths.

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THERE WAS A NEW WOMAN

(_Neo-Nursery Rhyme_)

There was a New Woman, as I've heard tell, And she rode a bike with a horrible bell, She rode a bike in a masculine way, And she had a spill on the Queen's highway. While she lay stunned, up came Doctor Stout, And he cast a petticoat her "knickers" about, To hide the striped horrors which bagged at the knees. When the New Woman woke, she felt strange and ill at ease; She began to wonder those skirts for to spy, And cried, "Oh, goodness gracious! I'm sure this isn't I! But if it is I, as I hope it be, I know a little vulgar boy, and he knows me; And if it is I, he will jeer and rail, But if it isn't I, why, to notice me he'll fail." So off scorched the New Woman, all in the dark, But as the little vulgar boy her knickers failed to mark, He was quite polite, and she began to cry, "Oh! Jimmy doesn't cheek me, so I'm sure this _isn't_ I!"

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THE PACE THAT KILLS

Have a care how you speed! Take the motorist's case:-- On his tomb you can read, "Requiescat in pace."

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Illustration: LIFE'S LITTLE IRONIES.--

_Motorist._ "Conductor! How can I strike the Harrow road?"

_Conductor._ "'Arrer road? Let's see. Second to right, third to--it's a good way, sir. I tell 'ee, sir. Just follow that green bus over there; that'll take you right to it!"

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WONDERS ON WHEELS

(_By an Old Beginner_)

Wonder if my doctor was right in ordering me to take this sort of exercise.

Wonder whether I look very absurd while accepting the assistance of an attendant who walks by my side and keeps me from falling by clutches at my waistbelt.

Wonder whether it would have been better to go to Hyde Park instead of Battersea.

Wonder whether the policeman, the postman, the nurse with the perambulator, the young lady reading the novel, and the deck passengers on the passing steamboat are laughing at me.

Wonder whether I shall keep on now that my attendant has let go.

Wonder whether the leading wheel will keep straight on until we have passed that lamp-post.

Wonder whether the next spill I have will be less painful than the last.

Wonder why mats are not laid down by the County Council in the roads for the comfort of falling cyclists.

Wonder why the cycle suddenly doubled up and landed me in the gutter.

Wonder whether the pretty girl in the hat, whose face is hidden by a novel, smiled at my misadventure.

Wonder whether the person who has just come to grief over yonder is using good language or words of an inferior quality.

Wonder whether my attendant is right in urging me to remount and have another try.

Wonder whether I look well wobbling.

Wonder whether the elderly spinster with the anxious manner and air of determination is really enjoying herself.

Wonder whether, when I have completed my first hour, I shall want another.

Wonder whether the imp of a boy will run with me.

Wonder whether my second fall in five minutes beats the record.

Wonder, considering the difficulty of progressing half a dozen paces in as many minutes, how those marvellous feats are performed at Olympia.

Wonder if I shall ever advance upon my present rate of speed, _i.e._, three-quarters of a mile an hour.

Wonder, finally, if the placards warning cyclists in Battersea Park against the dangers of "furious riding" can possibly be posted for my edification.

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THE SCORCHER

He travels along at the top of his speed, You might think that his life was at stake; To beauties of nature he never pays heed, For the record he's trying to break. He stiffens his muscles and arches his back As if he were still on the cinder-path track.

He races regardless of life and of limb, Caring naught for the folk in his way; For chickens and children are nothing to him, And his mad career nothing can stay; So wildly he wheels as if urged by a goad; By coachmen he's christened "the curse of the road."

He'll pass on the left and he'll ride on the right, For the rules of the road caring naught; His lamp he will not take the trouble to light Till a pretty smart lesson he's taught. But lecture and fine him as much as you will, The trail of the scorcher is over him still.

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RHYME FOR RECORD-MAKERS

Rattle-it, rattle-it, "Biking" man; Make us a "record" as fast as you can; Score it, and print it as large as life, And someone will "cut" it ere you can say knife!

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Illustration: Unwilling to give up horses altogether, Captain Pelham effected a compromise. His first appearance in the park created quite a sensation.

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Illustration: FLATTERY--WITH AN OBJECT

_Jocasta_ (_with an axe of her own to grind, ingratiatingly_). "Oh yes, papa, it does suit you. I never saw you look so nice in anything before!"

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Illustration: MEMS FOR MOTORISTS.--If your car suddenly appears to drag heavily, you may be sure there is something to account for it.

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Illustration: "Have you ever tried riding without the handles? It's delightfully easy, all but the corners."

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Illustration: !!! So it seems!

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BROKEN ON THE WHEEL

_First Lesson._--Held on by instructor, a tall, muscular young man. Thought it was so easy. Cling for dear life to handle, as beginners in horsemanship cling to the reins. Instructor says I must not. Evidently cannot hold on by my knees. Ask him what I am to hold on by. "Nothing," he says. How awful! Feel suspended in the air. That is what I ought to be. At present am more on ground; anyway one foot down. Even when in movement position of feet uncertain. Go a few yards, supported. Muscular instructor rather hot and tired, but says civilly, "You're getting on nicely, sir." At this get off unexpectedly, and, when I am picked up, reply, "Very likely," only my feet were off the pedals all the time. Then rest, and watch little children riding easily. One pretty girl. Wonder whether she laughed at me. Probably. Shall have another try.

_Second Lesson._--Held on by another instructor, who urges me "to put more life into it." Hope it won't be the death of me. Work in a manner which even the treadmill, I imagine, could not necessitate, and get the wheel round a few times. Painful wobbling. Instructor says I must pedal more quickly. Can't. Rest a minute. Panting. Awfully hot. Observe little children going round comfortably. Pretty girl here again, looking as fresh and cool as possible. Suddenly manage to ride three yards unsupported. Then collapse. But am progressing. Shall come again soon.

_Third Lesson._--Endeavour to get on alone. Immediately get off on other side. Nearly upset the pretty girl. Polite self-effacement impossible when one is at the mercy of a mere machine. After a time manage better. And at last get started and ride alone for short distances. Always tumble off ignominiously just as I meet the pretty girl. Instructor urges me to break the record. Hope I shan't break my neck. Finally go all round the ground. Triumph! Pretty girl seems less inclined to laugh. Delightful exercise, bicycle riding! Shall come again to-morrow.

_Fourth Lesson._--High north-east wind. Hot sun. Regular May weather. Clouds of coal-dust from track. Pretty girl not there at all. Start confidently. Endeavour to knock down a wall. Wall does not suffer much. Start again. Faster this time. The pretty girl has just come. Will show what I can do now. Career over large hole. Bicycle sinks, and then takes a mighty leap. Unprepared for this. Am cast into the air. Picked up. Can't stand. Something broken. Doctor will say what. Anyhow, clothes torn, bruised, disheartened. Dare not catch the eye of pretty girl. Carried home. Shall give up bicycle riding. Awful fag, and no fun.

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In its "Hints for Bicyclists," _Home Chat_ says: "A little fuller's earth dusted inside the stockings, socks and gloves, keeps the feet cool." Nothing, however, is said of the use of rubber soles as a protection against sunstroke.

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OVERHEARD AT A MOTOR MEETING.--

_Inquirer._ "I wonder what they call those large, long cars?"

_Well-informed Friend._ "Those? Oh, I believe those are the Flying Kilometres, a French make."

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People who are in favour of increasing the rates--Motorists.

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Illustration: THE PERILS OF CYCLING.--(_A sketch in Battersea Park._)

_Angelina._ "Come along, dear!"

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Illustration: MOTORING PHENOMENA--AND HOW TO READ THE SIGNS

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Illustration: _The Squire._ "But I tell you, sir, this road is private, and you shall not pass except over my prostrate body!"

_Cyclist._ "All right, guv'nor, I'll go back. I've done enough hill climbing already!"

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THE MORAL BIKE

_Truth_ has discovered that temperance is promoted, and character generally reformed, by the agency of the bicycle--in fact, the guilty class has taken to cycling.

That is so. Go into any police-court, and you will find culprits in the dock who have not only taken to cycling but have also taken other people's cycles.

Ask any burglar among your acquaintance, and he will tell you that the term Safety Bicycle has a deeper and truer meaning for him, when, in pursuit of his vocation, he is anxious not to come in collision with the police.

Look, too, at the Scorcher on his Saturday afternoon exodus. Where could you have a more salient and striking example of pushfulness and determination to "get there" over all obstacles? He is, in fact, an example of Nietzsche's "Ueber-mensch," the Over-man who rides over any elderly pedestrian or negligible infant that may cross his path.

Then the Lady in Bloomers. She is a great reforming agent. She looks so unsightly, that if all her sisters were dressed like her flirtation would die out of the land and there would be no more cakes and ale.

Think also of all the virtues called into active exercise by one simple puncture: Patience, while you spend an hour by the wayside five miles from anywhere; Self-control, when "swears, idle swears, you know not what they mean, swears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart and gather to the lips," as Tennyson has so sympathetically put it; Fortitude, when you have to shoulder or push the Moral Agent home; and a lot of other copy-book qualities.

Lastly, the adventurer who proceeds without a light within curfew hours, the sportsman who steals a march on the side-walk, and the novice who tries a fall with the first omnibus encountered--are all bright instances of British independence, and witnesses to _Truth_.

Truly, the bike is an excellent substitute for the treadmill and the reformatory!

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Illustration: "AS OTHERS SEE US."--

_Obliging Motorist._ "Shall I stop the engine?"

_Groom._ "Never mind that, sir. But if you gents wouldn't mind just gettin' out and 'idin' behind the car for a minute,--the 'orses think it's a menagery comin'."

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Illustration: THE MILTONIC CYCLIST

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WAKE UP, ENGLAND!

["British lady motor-drivers," says _Motoring Illustrated_, "must look to their laurels. Miss Rosamund Dixey, of Boston, U.S.A., invariably has her sweet, pet, fat, white pig sitting up beside her in the front of her motor car."]

We are losing our great reputation Our women are not up-to-date; For a younger, more go-a-head nation Has beaten us badly of late; Is there nowhere some fair Englishwoman Who'd think it not too _infra dig._ To be seen with (and treat it as human) A sweet--pet--fat--white--pig?

There is no need to copy our Cousins, A visit or two to the Zoo Will convince you there must be some dozens Of animal pets that would do, With a "grizzly" perched up in your motor, Just think how the people would stare, Saying, "Is that a man in a coat or A big--grey--tame--he--bear?"

Think how _chic_ it would look in the paper (_Society's Doings_, we'll say), "Mrs. So-and-so drove with her tapir, And daughter (the tapir's) to-day. Mrs. Thingummy too and her sister Drove out for an hour and a half, And beside them (the image of Mr.) A dear--wee--pink--pet--calf!"

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Illustration:

"Did you get his number?"

"No; but I saw exactly what she was wearing and how much she paid for the things!"

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THE MOTORS' DEFENCE UNION

A Pedestrians' Protection League is being formed to uphold the rights of foot-passengers on the highways. As no bane is without its antidote, an opposition union is to be organised, having in view the adoption of the following regulations:--

1. Every pedestrian must carry on his front and back a large and conspicuous number as a means of easy and rapid identification.

2. No foot passenger shall quit the side-walk, except at certain authorised crossings. In country lanes and places where there is no side-walk the ditch shall be considered equivalent to the same.

3. Each foot-passenger about to make use of such authorised crossings shall thrice sound a danger-signal on a hooter, fog-horn or megaphone; and, after due warning has thus been given, shall traverse the road at a speed of not less than twelve miles an hour. The penalty for infringement to be forty shillings or one month.

4. Any pedestrian obstructing a motor by being run over, causing a motor to slow down or stop, or otherwise deranging the traffic, shall be summarily dealt with: the punishment for this offence to be five years' penal servitude, dating from arrest or release from hospital, as the case may be.

5. Should the pedestrian thus trespassing on the highway lose his life in an encounter with a motor-car, he shall not be liable to penal servitude; compensation for shock and loss of time, however, shall be paid from his estate to the driver of the car, such amount being taxed by the coroner.

6. All cattle, sheep, pigs, swine, hares, rabbits, conies, and other ground game, and every goose, duck, fowl, or any animal whatsoever with which the motor shall collide shall, _ipso facto_, be confiscated to the owner of the motor.

7. Any comment, remark, reflection, sneer or innuendo concerning the shape, speed, appearance, noise, smell, or other attribute of a motor-car, or of its occupants, shall be actionable; and every foot-passenger thus offending shall be bound over in the sum of £500 to keep the peace.

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The Scotchman who tumbled off a bicycle says that in future he intends to "let wheel alone."

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Illustration: _Mabel's three bosom Friends_ (_all experts--who have run round to see the Christmas gift_). "Hullo, Mab!. Why, what on earth are you doing?"

_Mab_ (_in gasps_). "Oh--you see--it was awfully kind of the Pater to give it to me--but I have to look after it myself--and I knew I should _never have breath enough to blow the tyres out_!"

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Illustration: AN ACCOMMODATING PARTY.--_Lady Driver._ "Can you show us the way to Great Missenden, please?"

_Weary Willie._ "Cert'nly, miss, cert'nly. We're agoin' that way. 'Op up, Joe. Anythink to oblige a lady!"

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Among the correspondence in the _Daily Mail_ on the subject of "The Motor Problem," there is a letter from a physician, who exposes very cynically a scheme for improving his practice.

"I am," he says, "a country doctor, and during the last five years have had not a single case of accident to pedestrians caused by motor car.... As soon as I can afford it I intend to buy a motor."

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Illustration: HOW NOT

_Bikist._ "Now then, Ethel, see me make a spurt round this corner."

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Illustration: TO DO IT

_First Villager._ "What's up, Bill?"

_Second Villager._ "Oh, only a gent awashin' the dust off his bike."

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It is a bad workman who complains of his tools, yet even the best of them may be justly annoyed when his spanner goes completely off its nut.

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"Motor cycle for sale, 2-3/4 h.-p., equal to 3-1/4 h.-p."

_--Provincial Paper._

Discount of 1/2 h.-p. for cash?

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SONG OF THE SCORCHER.

(_After reading the Protests and Plans of the Cyclophobists_)

I know I'm a "scorcher," I know I am torcher To buffers and mivvies who're not up to date; But grumpy old geesers, and wobbly old wheezers, Ain't goin' to wipe me and my wheel orf the slate. I mean to go spinning and 'owling and grinning At twelve mile an hour through the thick of the throng. And shout, without stopping, whilst, frightened and flopping, My elderly victims like ninepins are dropping,-- "So long!"

The elderly bobby, who's stuffy and cobby, Ain't got arf a chance with a scorcher on wheels; Old buffers may bellow, and young gals turn yellow, But what do I care for their grunts or their squeals? No, when they go squiffy I'm off in a jiffy, The much-abused "scorcher" is still going strong. And when mugs would meddle, I shout as I pedal-- "So long!"