Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling by J. A. Hammerton (me reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: J. A. Hammerton
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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!"
[Pg 42] WHEELS WITHIN WHEELSDialogue 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!
[Pg 44]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.
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.
"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.
The Trail of the Motor.—"COLLECTOR.
Young man wants collecting."—Advt. in Provincial Paper.
[Pg 43]
"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."
[Pg 45]
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!"
[Pg 46] 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? [Pg 48] 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!"
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!
[Pg 47]
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.
[Pg 49]
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."
[Pg 50]
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.
[Pg 51]
REALISATION.—The Browns, when the arrivals have removed their motor glasses, etc., disclosing not the Robinsons, but those awful bores, the Smiths.
[Pg 52] 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!"
THE PACE THAT KILLSHave a care how you speed!
Take the motorist's case:—
On his tomb you can read,
"Requiescat in pace."
[Pg 53]
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!"
[Pg 54] 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[Pg 56] 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.
[Pg 55]
Unwilling to give up horses altogether, Captain Pelham effected a compromise. His first appearance in the park created quite a sensation.
[Pg 57]
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!"
[Pg 58] THE SCORCHERHe 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.
RHYME FOR RECORD-MAKERSRattle-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!
[Pg 59]
Mems for Motorists.—If your car suddenly appears to drag heavily, you may be sure there is something to account for it.
[Pg 60]
"Have you ever tried riding without the handles? It's delightfully easy, all but the corners."
[Pg 61]
!!!
So it seems! [Pg 62] 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
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