Yardsley.  Yes—­saw her the other night at the academy.  Rides mighty well, too, Brad.  Don’t wonder you don’t take it up.  Contrast, you know—­eh, Perk?  Fearful thing for a man to have the world see how much smarter his wife is than he is.

Perkins (turning to his wheel).  Bradley’s a little worried about the non-arrival of Mrs. Bradley.  She was coming here on her wheel, and started about the same time he did.

Barlow.  Oh, that’s all right, Ned.  She knows her wheel as well as you know your business.  Can’t come down quite as fast as the “L,” particularly these nights just before election.  She may have fallen in with some political parade, and is waiting to get across the street.

Bradley (aside).  Well, I like that!

Mrs. Perkins (aside).  Why—­it’s awful!

Yardsley.  Or she may possibly have punctured her tire—­that would delay her fifteen or twenty minutes.  Don’t worry, my dear boy.  I showed her how to fix a punctured tire all right.  It’s simple enough—­you take the rubber thing they give you and fasten it in that metal thingumbob, glue it up, poke it in, pull it out, pump her up, and there you are.

Bradley (scornfully).  You told her that, did you?

Yardsley.  I did.

Bradley (with a mock sigh of relief).  You don’t know what a load you’ve taken off my mind.

Barlow (looking at his watch).  H’m!  Thaddeus, it’s nine o’clock.  I move we go out and have the lesson.  Eh?  The moon is just right.

Yardsley.  Yes—­we can’t begin too soon.  Wheel all right?

Perkins.  Guess so—­I’m ready.

Bradley.  I’ll go out to the corner and see if there’s any sign of
Mrs. Bradley. [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins (who has been gazing out of window for some moments).  I do wish Emma would come.  I can’t understand how women can do these things.  Riding down here all alone at night!  It is perfectly ridiculous!

Yardsley (rolling Perkins’s wheel into middle of room).  Czar wheel, eh?

Perkins (meekly).  Yes—­best going—­they tell me.

Barlow.  Can’t compare with the Alberta.  Has a way of going to pieces like the “one-hoss shay”—­eh, Bob?

Yardsley.  Exactly—­when you least expect it, too—­though the Alberta isn’t much better.  You get coasting on either of ’em, and half-way down, bang! the front wheel collapses, hind wheel flies up and hits you in the neck, handle-bar turns just in time to stab you in the chest; and there you are, miles from home, a physical, moral, bicycle wreck.  But the Arena wheel is different.  In fact, I may say that the only safe wheel is the Arena.  That’s the one I ride.  However, at fifty dollars this one isn’t extravagant.

Perkins.  I paid a hundred.

Yardsley.  A wha—­a—­at?

Perkins.  Hundred.

Barlow.  Well you are a—­a—­good fellow.  It’s a pretty wheel, anyhow.  Eh, Bob?