Part 7

MISS D.'S VOICE. Very well, then. Just wipe some of the dust off the mud-guards, because I shall want it again after lunch. And mind you don't scratch the enamel taking it in.

STUBBS. Very good, Miss. I'll be keerful.

[_MISS DIANA'S steps die away upon the cobbles._

BAYARD (_to himself_). She's gone--without even asking after me! What has she been out in--a bath chair? I'm sure she _must_ be ill.

STUBBS (_to the Bicycle, as he wheels it in_). 'Ere, steady now, 'old up, can't ye? And keep that blarsted near pedal o' yourn off o' _my_ enamel. Blest if I wouldn't rather rub down arf a dozen 'unters nor one o' them yere bloomin' bi-cycles. I know where I _am_ with a 'orse; but these 'ere little, twisty, spidery wheels----Come _over_, will ye. I'll lean ye up agen 'ere till I've 'ad my dinner.

[_He places the machine against a partition next to BAYARD'S stall, and goes out._

BAYARD (_to himself, as he inspects his neighbour with the corner of his eye_). It's _not_ a bath-chair; it's one of these bicycles. It must be a sort of animal, I suppose, or Stubbs wouldn't have spoken to it. I should like to ask it one or two questions. (_He gets his neck over the partition, and breathes gently through his nostrils upon the handle-bars._) Excuse me, but do you understand horse-language at all?

The BICYCLE (_answering by a succession of saddle-creaks_). Perfectly. I'm a kind of horse myself, I believe, only greatly _improved_, of course. _Would_ you mind not breathing on my handle-bars like that? It tarnishes the plating so. The saddle is the seat of _my_ intelligence, if you will kindly address your remarks here.

BAYARD. I beg your pardon. I will in future. I don't creak myself, but I've been closely connected with saddles ever since I was a two-year-old, so I can follow you fairly well. Didn't I hear my mistress's voice outside just now?

The BICYCLE. No; _my_ mistress's, Miss Diana's. I'd just taken her out for a short spin--not far, only fifteen miles or so.

BAYARD. Then, she--she's quite well?

The BICYCLE. Thanks, she's pedalling pretty strong just now. I'm going out with her again this afternoon.

BAYARD. Again! You will have had a hard day of it altogether, then. But I suppose you'll get a day or two's rest afterwards? I know _I_ should want it.

The BICYCLE. Bless you, _I_ never want rest. Why, I've been forty miles with her, and come home without clanking a link! _She_ was knocked up, if you like--couldn't go out for days!

BAYARD. Ah, she was never knocked up after riding _me_!

The BICYCLE. Because--it's no fault of yours, of course, but the way you've been constructed--you couldn't go far enough to knock _anybody_ up. And she doesn't get tired now, either. I'm not the kind of bicycle to boast; but I've often heard her say that she much prefers her "bike" (she always calls me her "bike"--very nice and friendly of her, isn't it?) to any mere _horse_.

BAYARD. To any mere horse! And does she--give any reasons?

The BICYCLE. Lots. For one thing, she says she feels so absolutely safe on me; she knows that, whatever she meets, I shall never start, or shy, or rear, or anything of that sort.

BAYARD. I don't remember playing any of those tricks with her, however hard she pulled the curb.

The BICYCLE. Then she says she never has to consider whether any distance will be too much for me.

BAYARD. As for _that_----But the longer I was out with her, the better I was pleased; she might have brought me home as lame as a tree all round, and _I_ shouldn't have cared!

The BICYCLE. Perhaps not. But _she_ would; so inconvenient, you see. Now _my_ strong point is, I _can't_ go lame--in good hands, of course, and she knows exactly how to manage me, I will say that for her!

BAYARD. Does she give you carrots or sugar after a ride? she did _me_.

THE BICYCLE (_with a creak of contempt_). Now what _do_ you suppose I could do with sugar or a carrot if I had it? No, a drop or two of oil now and then is all I take in the way of sustenance. That's _another_ point in my favour, I cost little or nothing to keep. Now, your oats and hay and stuff, I daresay, cost more in a year than I'm worth altogether!

BAYARD.. I must admit that you have the advantage of me in cheapness. If I thought she grudged me my oats----But I'm afraid I couldn't manage on a drop or two of oil.

The BICYCLE. You'd want buckets of it to oil _your_ bearings. No, she wouldn't save by that! (_STUBBS re-enters._) Ah, here comes my man. I must be going; got to take her over to Pineborough, rather a bore this dusty weather, but when a lady's in the case, eh?

BAYARD. There's a nasty hill going into Pineborough; do be careful how you take her down it!

The BICYCLE. You forget, my friend, I'm not a Boneshaker, I'm a Safety. Why, she'll just put her feet up on the rests, fold her arms, and leave the rest to me. She knows _I_ can be trusted.

BAYARD. Just tell me this before you go. Does--she doesn't pat you, or kiss you on your--er--handle-bar after a run, does she?

The BICYCLE (_turning its front wheel to reply, as STUBBS wheels it out_). You don't imagine I should stand any sentimental rot of that sort, do you? She knows better than to try it on!

BAYARD (_to himself_). I'm glad she doesn't kiss it. I don't think I _could_ have stood that!

_Same Scene. Some Hours Later._

STUBBS (_enters, carrying a dilapidated machine with crumpled handles, a twisted saddle, and a front wheel distorted into an irregular pentagon_). Well, I 'ope as 'ow this'll sarve as a lesson to 'er, I dew; a marcy she ain't broke her blessed little neck! (_To the Bicycle._) No need to be hover and above purtickler 'bout scratchin' your enamel _now_, any'ow! (_He pitches it into a corner, and goes._)

BAYARD (_after reconnoitring_). You don't mean to say it's _you_!

The BICYCLE. Me? of course it's me! A nice mess I'm in, too, entirely owing to her carelessness. Never put the brake on down that infernal hill, lost all control over me, and here I am, a wreck, Sir! Why, I had to be driven home, by a grinning groom, in a beastly dog-cart! Pleasant that!

BAYARD. But she--Miss Diana--was she hurt? Not--not _seriously_, eh?

The BICYCLE. Oh, of course you don't care what becomes of _me_ so long as----_She's_ all right enough--fell in a ditch, luckily for her, _I_ came down on a heap of stones. It'll be weeks before I'm out of the repairer's hands.

BAYARD (_to himself_). I _oughtn't_ to be glad; but I am--I _am_! She's safe, and--and she'll come back to me after this! (_To the Bicycle._) Wasn't she sorry for you?

The BICYCLE. Not she! These women have no feeling in them. Why, what do you suppose she said when they told me it would take weeks to tinker me up?

BAYARD (_to himself--with joy_). I think I can guess! (_To the Bicycle._) What _did_ she say?

The BICYCLE (_rattling with indignation_). Why, all _she_ said was: "How tiresome! I wonder if I can hire a decent bike here without having to send to town for one." There's gratitude for you! But _you_ can't enter into my feelings about it.

BAYARD. Pardon me--I fancy I can. And, after all, your day will come, when the Vet has set you up again. _Mine's_ over for ever. (_To himself._) Oh, why, _why_ wasn't I born a bicycle!

A DOLL'S DIARY.

_January 1._--Just had a brilliant idea--_quite_ original. I don't believe even any human person ever _thought_ of such a thing, but then,--besides being extremely beautiful and expensive, with refined wax features and golden hair--I am a very clever doll indeed. Frivolous, no doubt; heartless, so they tell me--but the very reverse of a _fool_. I flatter myself that if _anybody_ understands the nature of toys, especially _male_ toys--but I am forgetting my idea--which is this. I am going this year to write down--the little girl I belong to has no idea I can write, but I _can_--and better than _she_ does, too!--to write down every event of importance that happens, _with the dates_. There! I fancy _that_ is original enough. It will be a valuable dollian document when it is done, and _most_ interesting to look back upon. Now I must wait for something to happen.

_January 6._--Went to Small Dance given by the Only Other Wax Doll (a dreadful old frump!) on the Nursery Hearthrug. Room rather nicely illuminated by coloured fire from grate, and a pyramid nightlight, but floor poor. Didn't think much of the music--a fur monkey at the Digitorium, and a woolly lamb who brought his own bellows, make _rather_ a feeble orchestra. Still, on the whole, enjoyed myself. Much admired. Several young Ninepins, who are considered stuck-up, and keep a good deal to their own set, begged to be introduced. Sat out one dance with a Dice-box, who rattled away most amusingly. I understand he is quite an authority on games, and anything that falls from his mouth is received with respect. He is a great sporting character, too, and arranges all the meetings on the Nursery Race-course, besides being much interested in Backgammon. I _do_ like a Toy to have _manly_ tastes!

The Captain of a Wooden Marching Regiment quartered in the neighbourhood was there in full uniform, but not dancing. Told me they _didn't_ in his regiment. As his legs are made in one piece and glued on to a yellow stand, inclined to think this was not mere military swagger. He seemed considerably struck with me. Made an impression, too, on a rather elderly India-rubber Ball. Snubbed him, as one of the Ninepins told me he was considered "a bit of a bounder."

Some of the Composition Dolls, I could see, were perfectly _stiff_ with spite and envy. Spent a very pleasant evening, not getting back to my drawer till daylight. Too tired to write more.

_Mem._--Not to sit out behind the coal-scuttle another time!

_February 14._--Amount of attention I receive really quite embarrassing. The Ninepins are too _absurdly_ devoted. One of them (the nicest of all) told me to-day he had never been so completely bowled over in his whole existence! I manage to play them off against each other, however. The India-rubber Ball, too, is at my feet--and, naturally, I spurn him, but he is so short-winded that nothing will induce him to rise. Though naturally of an elastic temperament, he has been a good deal cast down of late. I smile on him occasionally--just to keep the Ball rolling; but it is becoming a frightful bore.

_March._--Have been presented with a charming pony-carriage, with two piebald ponies that go by clock work. I wish, though, I was not expected to share it with a _live kitten_! The kitten has no idea of repose, and spoils the effect of the turn-out. Try not to seem aware of it--even when it claws my frock. Rather interested in a young Skipjack, whom I see occasionally; he is quite good-looking, in a common sort of way. I talk to him now and then--it is something to do; and he is a new type, so different from the Ninepins!

_April 1._--Have just heard the Skipjack is engaged to a plaster Dairy-maid. A little annoyed, because he really seemed----Have been to see his _fiancée_, a common-place creature, with red cheeks, and a thick waist. Congratulate the Skipjack, with just a _hint_ that he might have looked higher. Afraid that he misunderstood me, for he absolutely jumped.

_April 7._--The Skipjack tells me he has _broken off his engagement_; he seems to think I shall guess the reason--but I don't, of _course_. Then he actually has the impertinence to (I can scarcely pen the words for indignation) to _propose_--to Me! I inform him, in the most _unmistakable_ terms, that he has presumed on my good-nature, and that there are social barriers between us, which no Skipjack can ever surmount. He leaves me abruptly, after declaring that I have broken the spring of his existence.

_April 8._--Much shocked and annoyed. The Skipjack found quite stiff and colourless this morning, in the water-jug! Must have jumped in last night. So _very_ rash and silly of him! Am sure I gave him no encouragement--or _next_ to none. Hear that the Dairy-maid has gone off her head. Of course it will be put down to _grief_; but we all know how easily plaster heads get cracked. Feel really distressed about it all, for the blame is sure to fall on _me_. Those Composition Dolls will make a fine scandal out of it!

_May._--The Ninepins are getting very difficult to manage; have to put them down as delicately as possible; but I am afraid, poor fellows, they are dreadfully upset. The Wooden Captain has challenged the Dice-box to a duel--I fear, on _my_ account. However, as the officer's sword will not unglue, I _hope_ nothing will come of it. All this _most_ worrying, though, and gives me little _real_ satisfaction. I find myself sighing for more _difficult_ conquests.

_June._--Went to afternoon tea with the biggest Dutch Doll. Rather a come-down, but now that there is this coolness between the Composition set and myself, I must go _somewhere_. I feel _so_ bored at times! Can see the ridiculous Dutch thing is trying to _out-dress_ me! She had a frock on that _must_ have cost at _least_ fifty beads, and I don't believe it will _ever_ be paid for! Only made her look the bigger _guy,_ though! Tea-party a stupid affair. Make-believe tea in pewter cups. Met the latest arrival, a really nice-looking Gentleman Doll, introduced as "Mr. Joseph." Very innocent face, without any moustache, and the sweetest blue eyes (except mine) I think I _ever_ saw! Seemed rather shy, but pleasant. Asked him to call.

_June 18._--Mr. Joseph has not called _yet_. Very strange! Suspect those horrid Composition Dolls have been setting him against me. Met him by the back-board and scolded him. He seemed confused. By a little management, I got it all out of him. I was right. He _has_ been told about the Skipjack. He has strict principles, and gave me to understand that he would prefer to decline my acquaintance--which was _like his impudence_! This is exciting, though. I intend to overcome these scruples; I mean him to be madly in love with me--then I shall scornfully reject him, which will serve him just _right_!

_July._--My tactics have succeeded--_at last_! To-day Joseph called, _ostensibly_ to beg me to go and see the unhappy Ball, who, it seems, is terribly collapsed, reduced to a _mere bowl_, and so exhausted that he cannot hold out much longer. However, in the course of the interview, I soon made him oblivious of the Ball. He fell at my feet. "Beautiful Gloriana," he cried, "with all your many and glaring faults, I love you!" Then I carried out the _rest_ of my programme--it was a painful scene, and I will only record that when he left me, he was completely _un-dolled_! I feel almost sorry for him--he had rather a nice face!

_July 4._--I don't seem able to settle to anything. After all, I think I will go and see the poor Ball. It would comfort him, and I might see _him_ there. I will order the pony-carriage.

* * * * *

_August._--What has happened to me? Where have I been all this time? Let me collect myself, and see how much I remember. My last clear recollection is of being in my carriage on my way to receive the departing Ball's last sigh.... Something has started the clockwork. My ponies are bolting, and I haven't the _slightest_ control over them! We are rushing along the smooth plain of the chest of drawers, and rapidly nearing the edge. I try to scream for help, but all I can utter is, "Papa!" and "Mamma!" All at once I see _him_ standing, calm and collected, on the very brink of the precipice. Is he strong enough to stop the ponies in their mad clockwork career, and save me, _even yet_? _How_ I will love him if he does! An instant of sickening suspense ... we are _over_!--falling down, down, down.... A crash, a whirr of clockwork, a rush of bran to my head--and I know no more. What follows is a dream--a horrible, confused nightmare--of lying among a heap of limp bodies--some armless, some legless, others (ah! the horror of it) _headless_! I grope blindly for my own limbs--they are intact; then I feel the place where I naturally expect to find my head--it is _gone_!... The shock is too much--I faint once more. And that is all.

Thank goodness, it was only a dream--for here I am, in the same old nursery again! Not _all_ a dream, either--or my pony-carriage would scarcely present such a damaged appearance. The _accident_ was real. Then what--_what_ has become of Joseph? I _must_ find him--I must make him understand that I repent--that, for the future, I intend to be a changed doll!

_September._--Still searching for Joseph. No trace of him. I seem to be a changed doll in more ways than one. My former set knows me not. The Ninepins do not stagger when I smile at them now; the Dice-box gapes open-mouthed at my greeting. I call upon the Composition Dolls--they are very polite; but it is quite clear that they don't remember me in the least! Alas! how soon one is forgotten in the world of Toys! Have no heart to recall myself to them. I go, for the first time since my accident, to a convenient brass knob, in which I would once gaze at my reflected features by the hour. How indescribable are my sensations at the discovery that I have a _totally new head_--a china one! I, who used to look down on china dolls! It is a very decent head, in its way; quite neat and inoffensive, with smooth, shiny hair, which won't come down like the golden locks I _once_ had. I am glad--yes, _glad_ now--that Joseph has gone, and the home he used to occupy is deserted, and shut up. If he were here, _he_ would not know me either. Now I can live single all my remaining days, in memory of him, and devote myself to doing good!

_October._--Have entered on my new career. Am organising a Mission for Lost Toys, and a Clothing Club for Rag Dolls. To-day, while "slumming" in the lumber-closet, found my old acquaintance, the Dutch Doll in a _shocking_ state of destitution--nothing on her but a piece of _tattered tissue-paper_! To think that my evil example and her own _senseless extravagance_ have brought her to _this_! Gave her one of my old tea-gowns and a Sunday domino, but did not reveal myself. Feeling very sad and lonely: think I shall have to keep a mouse--I must have _something_ to love me!

_October 15._--Someone has taken poor dear Joseph's old house. I see a new doll, with a small but worldly black moustache and a very bad countenance, watching me as I pass the windows. Shall call and leave a scripture brick. It may do him good.

_October 16._--Have called.... _Never_ heard worse language from the lips of _any_ doll! Came across my old admirer, the Ball, who is better, though still what I have heard the nursery governess describe as an "_oblate spheroid_." Of course, he did not recognise me.

_December._--Have seen a good deal of the Doll with the worldly moustache lately. From certain symptoms, do not despair of reforming him--ultimately. He seems softening. Yesterday he told me he did not think he should live long. Yet he has a splendid constitution--the best porcelain. He is dreadfully cynical--seems so reckless about everything. If I could only reclaim him--for Joseph's sake!

This afternoon I saw the yellow stand which the Wooden Captain used to occupy. What memories it recalled, ah me! Can he have disgraced himself and been "broke"? And am _I_ responsible?

_Christmas Eve._--Am sitting in my corner, my mouse curled comfortably at my feet, when the Walking Postman comes up with a letter--for _me_! It is from the Wicked Doll! He is very ill--_dying_, he thinks--and wishes to see me. How well I remember that _other_ message which Joseph--but Joseph is taken, and the Ball still bounds! Well, I will go. It will be something to tell my Diary.

* * * * *

_Christmas Day._--Something _indeed_! How shall I begin my wondrous _incredible_ tale? I reached the Doll's House, which looked gloomier and more deserted than ever, with the sullen glow of the dying fire reflected redly in its windows. The green door stood open--I went in. "Ha, ha! _trapped_!" cried a sneering voice behind me. It was the Wicked Doll! His letter was a _ruse_--he was as well as I was--and I--I was shut up there in that lonely house, entirely at his mercy!... It was a frightful position for any doll to be placed in; and yet, looking back on it now, I don't think I minded it so _very_ much.

"Listen!" he said, in response to my agonized entreaties. "Long, long ago, when I was young and innocent, a beautiful but heartless being bewitched me, kid and bran! I told my love--she mocked at me. Since then I have sworn, though she has escaped me, to avenge myself by sacrificing the life of the first doll I could entice into my power. _You_ are that doll. You must die!"... "I am quite prepared," I told him--"do your worst!" which seemed to confuse him very much. "I will," he said, "presently--presently; there is no hurry. You see," he explained, in a tone almost of apology, "in endeavouring to save her life (it was my last good action) I got my head smashed, and received the substitute I now wear, which, as you will observe, is that of an unmitigated villain. And it's no use having a head like that if you don't live _up_ to it--_is_ it, now? So--as I think I observed before--prepare for the worst!" "Don't talk about it any more--_do_ it!" I said, and I breathed Joseph's name softly. But the Wicked Doll did nothing at all. I began to feel safer--it was so obvious that he hadn't the faintest notion _what_ to do. "She treated me abominably," he said feebly; "_any_ doll would have been annoyed at the heartless way in which Gloriana----"

I could contain my feelings no longer.

"Joseph!" I gasped (I had lost all fear of him), "you ridiculous old goose, don't you _know_ me? _I_ am Gloriana, and I have found you at last!" And with that I flung myself into his arms, and told him everything. I think he was more relieved than anything. "So _you_ are Gloriana!" he said. "It's dreadfully bewildering; but, to tell you the honest truth, I can't keep up this villainy business any longer. I haven't been brought up to it, and I don't understand how it's done. So I tell you what we'll do. If you'll leave off living up to _your_ new head, I won't try to live up to _mine_!" And so we settled it.

_Postscript. December 31._--We are to be married to-morrow. The Dutch Doll is to be my bridesmaid, and the Wooden Captain (who was only away on sick leave, after all) is coming up to be best man. I have seen the poor old Ball, and told him there will always be a corner for him in our new home. I am very, _very_ happy. To think that Joseph should still care for his poor Gloriana, altered and homely as her once lovely features have now become! But Joseph (who is leaning over my shoulder and reading every word I write) stops me here to assure me that I am lovelier than ever in _his_ eyes. And really--I don't know--perhaps I _am_. And in _other_ persons' eyes, too, if it comes to that. I certainly don't intend to give up society just because I happen to be _married_!

ELEVATING THE MASSES.

(A PURELY IMAGINARY SKETCH.)

_ARGUMENT--MRS. FLITTERMOUSE, having got up a party to assist her in giving an Entertainment at the East End, has called a meeting for the purpose of settling the items in the programme._

_MRS. FLITTERMOUSE'S Drawing-room in Park Lane. Everybody discovered drinking tea, and chatting on matters totally unconnected with Philanthropy._

MRS. FLITTERMOUSE (_imploringly_). Now, _please_, everybody, _do_ attend! It's quite impossible to settle anything while you're all talking about something else. (_Apologies, protests, constrained silence._) Selina, dear, what do you think it would be best to begin with?