Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling by J. A. Hammerton (me reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: J. A. Hammerton
Book online «Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling by J. A. Hammerton (me reader .TXT) 📖». Author J. A. Hammerton
MISUNDERSTOOD
Donald (who has picked up fair cyclist's handkerchief). "Hi! Woman! Woman!"
Fair Cyclist (indignantly). "'Woman'! How dare you——"
Donald (out of breath). "I beg your pardon, sir! I thought you was a woman. I didna see your trews."
Automobile dust-carts, says the Matin, are to be used in Paris henceforth. We had thought every motor-car was this.
[Pg 153]
English Dictionary Illustrated.—"Coincidence." The falling or meeting of two or more lines or bodies at the same point.
[Pg 154] REFLECTIONS OF A MOTOR-RACERTwo A.M.! Time to get up, if I'm to be ready for the great Paris-Berlin race at 3.30. Feel very cold and sleepy. Pitch dark morning, of course. Moon been down hours. Must get into clothes, I suppose. Oilskins feel very clammy and heavy at this hour in the morning. Button up tunic and tuck trousers into top boots. Put on peaked cap and fasten veil tightly over face, after covering eyes with iron goggles and protecting mouth with respirator. Wind woollen muffler round neck and case hands in thick dogskin gloves with gauntlets. Look like Nansen going to discover North Pole. Or Tweedledum about to join battle with Tweedledee. Effect on the whole unpleasing.
Great crowds to see us off. Nearly ran over several in effort to reach starting post. Very careless. People ought not to get in the way on these occasions. Noise appalling. Cheers, snatches of Marseillaise, snorts of motors, curses of competitors, cries of bystanders knocked down by[Pg 156] enthusiastic chauffeurs, shouts of gendarmes clearing the course. Spectators seem to find glare of acetylene lamps very confusing. Several more or less injured through not getting out of the way sufficiently quickly. At last the flag drops. We are off.
Pull lever, and car leaps forward. Wonder if wiser to start full speed or begin gently? Decide on latter. Result, nearly blinded by dust of competitors in front, and suffocated by stench of petroleum. Fellow just ahead particularly objectionable in both respects. Decide to quicken up and pass him. Can't see a foot before me on account of his dust. Suddenly run into the stern of his car. Apologise. Can't I look where I'm going? Of course I can. Not my fault at all. Surly fellow! Proceed to go slower. Fellow behind runs into me. Confound him, can't he be more careful? Says he couldn't see me. Idiot!
Put on speed again. Car in front just visible through haze of dust. Hear distant crash. Confound the man, he's run into a dray! Just time to swerve to the right, and miss wreck of his car by an inch. Clumsy fellow, blocking my road in that way. At last clear space before me. Go up with[Pg 158] a rush. Wind whistles past my ears. Glorious! What's that? Run over an old woman? Very annoying. Almost upset my car. Awkward for next chap. Body right across the road. Spill him to a certainty.
Morning growing light, but dust thicker than ever. Scarcely see a yard in front of me. Must trust to luck. Fortunately road pretty straight here. Just missed big tree. Collided with small one. Knocked it over like a ninepin. Lucky I was going so fast. Car uninjured, but tree done for. Man in car just ahead very much in my way. Shout to him to get out of the light. Turns round and grins malevolently. Movement fatal. He forgets to steer and goes crash into ditch. What's that he says? Help? Silly fellow, does he think I can stop at this pace? Curious how ignorant people seem to be of simplest mechanical laws.
Magnificent piece of road here. Nothing in sight but a dog. Run over it. Put on full speed. Seventy miles an hour at least. Can no longer see or hear anything. Trees, villages, fields rush by in lightning succession. Fancy a child is knocked down. Am vaguely conscious of upsetting old [Pg 160] gentleman in gig. Seem to notice a bump on part of car, indicating that it has passed over prostrate fellow citizen, but not sure. Sensation most exhilarating. Immolate another child. Really most careless of parents leaving children loose like this in the country. Some day there will be an accident. Might have punctured my tyre.
Chap in front of me comes in sight. Catching him up fast. He puts on full speed. Still gaining on him. Pace terrific. Sudden flash just ahead, followed by loud explosion. Fellow's benzine reservoir blown up apparently. Pass over smoking ruins of car. Driver nowhere to be seen. Probably lying in neighbouring field. That puts him out of the race.
Eh? What's that? Aix in sight? Gallop, says Browning. Better not, perhaps. Road ahead crowded with spectators. Great temptation to charge through them in style. Mightn't be popular, though. Slow down to fifteen miles an hour, and enter town amid frantic cheering. Most interesting. Wonderfully few casualties. Dismount at door of hotel dusty but triumphant.
[Pg 155]
First Cyclist (cross-eyed). "Why the dickens don't you look where you're going?"
Second Cyclist (cross-eyed). "Why don't you go where you're looking?"
[Pg 157]
Quite Impossible.—Motorist. "What! Exceeding the legal limit? Do we look as if we would do such a thing?"
[Pg 159]
THE INTERPRETATION OF SIGNS
Custodian. "This 'ere's a private road, miss! Didn't yer see the notice-board at the gate, sayin' 'No thoroughfare'?"
Placida. "Oh yes, of course. Why, that's how I knew there was a way through!"
[Pg 161]
AFTER THE ACCIDENT
"Toujours la politesse."
[Pg 162]
QUITE A LITTLE HOLIDAY
Cottager. "What's wrong, Biker? Have you had a spill?"
Biker. "Oh, no. I'm having a rest!"
[Pg 163]
WHATS IN A NAME?
Old Gent (lately bitten with the craze). "And that confounded man sold me the thing for a safety!"
Motoring Illustrated suggests the institution of a Motor Museum. If we were sure that most of the motor omnibuses at present in our streets would find their way there, we would gladly subscribe.
[Pg 164] PROTECTION AGAINST MOTOR-CARSSir,—I recently read with interest a letter in the Times from "A Cyclist since 1868." In it he announced his intention of carrying a tail-light in order to avoid being run into from behind. The idea is admirable, and my wife and I, as Pedestrians since 1826 and 1823 respectively, propose to wear two lamps each in future, a white and a red.
We are, however, a little exercised to know whether we should carry the white in front and the red behind, or vice versâ. For in walking along the right side of a road we shall appear on the wrong side to an approaching motor-car. Would it not therefore be better for us to have the tail-light in front. Your most humble and obedient servant,
Lux Præpostera.
P.S.—Would such an arrangement make us "carriages" in the eye of the law? At present we appear to be merely a sub-division of the class "unlighted objects."
Cure for Motor-Scorchers (suggested as being even more humane than the proposal of Sir R. Payne-Gallwey).—Give them Automobile Beans!
[Pg 165]
SLOW AND SURE
John. "I've noticed, miss, as when you 'as a motor, you catches a train, not the train!"
[Pg 166] HOW THE MATCH CAME OFF A Harmony on Wheels (Miss Angelica has challenged Mr. Wotherspoon to a race on the Queen's highway.)Fytte 1.
Mr. W. Fine start!
(Faint heart!)
Miss A. Horrid hill!
(Feeling ill!)
Fytte 2.
Mr. W. Going strong!
Come along!
Fytte 3.
Miss A. Road quite even!
Perfect heaven!
Fytte 4.
Mr. W. Goal in view!
Running true!
Miss A. Make it faster!
Spur your caster!
Fytte 5.
Mr. W. Fairly done!
Miss A. Match is won!
[They dismount. Pause.
Mr. W. What! Confess!
Miss A. Well then—yes!
[Pg 167]
Motor Fiend. "Why don't you get out of the way?"
Victim. "What! Are you coming back?"
[Pg 168] MOTOROBESITY (A Forecast)In the spring of 1913 St. John Skinner came back from Africa, after spending nine or ten years somewhere near the Zambesi. He travelled up to Waterloo by the electric train, and the three very stout men who were in the same first-class compartment seemed to look at him with surprise. On arriving at his hotel he pushed his way through a crowd of fat persons in the hall. Then he changed his clothes, and went round to his Club to dine.
The dining-room was filled with members of extraordinary obesity, all eating heartily. In the fat features of one of them he thought he recognised a once familiar face. "Round," said he, "how are you?"
The stout man stopped eating, and gazed at him anxiously. "Why," he murmured, after a while, in the soft voice that comes from folds of fat, "it must be Skinner. My dear fellow, what is the matter with you? Have you had a fever?"
[Pg 170]"I'm all right," answered the other; "what makes you think I've been ill?"
"Ill, man!" said Round, "why you've wasted away to nothing. You're a perfect skeleton."
"If it's a question of bulk," remarked Skinner, "I'm much more surprised. You've grown so stout, every fellow in the Club seems so stout, everyone I've seen is as fat as—as—as you are."
"Heavens!" exclaimed Round, "you don't mean to say I've been putting on more flesh? I'm the light weight of the Club. I only weigh sixteen stone. No, no, you're chaffing, or you judge by your own figure."
"Not a bit," said the other; "you and I used to weigh about the same. What on earth has happened to you all?"
"Well," said Round, "perhaps you're right. It's very much what the doctors say. It's the fashionable complaint, motorobesity. Sit down, and dine with me, and I'll tell you what the idea is. You see, it's like this. For ten years or so everybody who could afford a motor of some sort has had one. We've all had one. Not to have a motor has been simply ridiculous, if not disreputable. So[Pg 172] everybody has ridden about all day in the fresh air, never had any exercise, and got an enormous appetite. Besides, in the summer we've always been drinking beer to wash down the dust, and in the winter soup, or spirits, or something to warm us. My dear fellow, you can't think what an appetite motoring gives you. I had an enormous steak for my lunch at Winchester to-day, and a great lump of plum cake with my tea at Aldershot, and my aunt, the General's wife, made me bring a bag of biscuits to eat on the way up, and yet I'm so hungry now that I should feel quite uncomfortable if the thirst those biscuits, and the dust, gave me didn't make me almost forget it. I suppose everyone is really getting fat. One notices it when one does happen to see a thin fellow like you. Why, in all the Clubs they've had to have new arm-chairs, because the old ones were too narrow. However, I've talked enough about motoring. So glad to see you again, old chap. Of course you'll get a motor as soon as possible."
"Well," said Skinner, "I rather think I shall buy a horse."
"My dear fellow," cried Round, "what an idea! [Pg 174] Horse-riding is such awfully bad form. Besides, you can't go any pace. Look at me. I wouldn't get on a horse, and be shaken to pieces."
"I should think not," said Skinner, "but I think I should prefer that to motorobesity."
An advertisement in The Motor quotes the testimony of a gentleman from Moreton-in-the-Marsh, who states that he has run a certain car "nearly 412,500 miles in four months, and is more than pleased with it." As this works out (on a basis of twenty-four hours'
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