Part 15 (1/2)

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?