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 open for broiling.  Next time I ride a wheel it’ll be four wheels, with a horse fastened in front.  Oh my! oh my!  I believe I’ve broken my back too.  [Lies down.

Bradley.  You seem to be exhilarated, Thaddeus.

Perkins (bracing up).  Oh, I am, I am.  Never felt worse—that is, better.

Barlow.  Come on, Brad.  I’ll show you the trick in two jiffies—it’ll relieve your worry about madam, too.

Bradley.  Very well—I suppose there’s no way out of it.  Only let me know as soon as Emma arrives, will you?

Mrs. Perkins.  Yes—we will.

[They go out.  As they disappear through the door Thaddeus groans aloud.

Mrs. Perkins.  Why—what is the matter, dear?  Are you hurt?

Perkins.  Oh no—not at all, my love.  I was only thinking of Mr. Jarley’s indignation to-morrow when he sees the hole I made in his curb-stone with my ankle—oh!—ow!—and as for my back, while I don’t think the whole spine is gone, I shouldn’t be surprised if it had come through in sections.

Mrs. Perkins.  Why, you poor thing—why didn’t you say—

Perkins (savagely).  Why didn’t I say?  My heavens, Bess, what did you think I wanted the Pond’s Extract for—to drink, or to water the street with?  O Lord! (holding up his arm).  There aren’t any ribs sticking out, are there?

Barlow (outside).  The other way—there—that’s it—you’ve got it.

Bradley (outside).  Why, it is easy, isn’t it?

Perkins (scornfully).  Easy!  That fellow’d find comfort in—

Barlow (outside).  Now you’re off—not too fast.

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.