The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces. Bangs John Kendrick
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.