“No,” said Jimmy. “I have something better ... more æsthetic, less cruel ... a Soudanese woman from Chicago. She walks on to the stage in a low-necked dress ... a magnificent woman ... a creamy complexion, with a touch of pink ... and golden hair ...”
“You said a negress,” interrupted Harrasford.
“Wait ... a splendid voice ... classical music ... then a wild African melody.... She feels a flutter of homesickness; the perspiration streams down her face; she presses the sponge soaked in water, hidden beneath her wig,—and the enamel, the white of the shoulders, the pink cheeks all trickle away and, finally she appears black as ebony, and, to the growl of the kettle-drums, does a disheveled dance, kicking up her legs like a puppet on a string ... Patti-Patty ... talent and absurdity mixed ... a crazy toy ... movement and noise, while the hall fills.”
“Next?” asked Harrasford.
“Next, without any interval,” continued Jimmy, “directly after that performance by the court fool before his majesty the audience, the curtain rises upon a park ... and the New Trickers chasing one another among the trees.”
“The New Trickers!” said Harrasford. “Bicyclists: that’s very stale. And, besides, what about you?”
“Has one ever,” asked Jimmy, “seen a music-hall give two similar special turns, two bicycle turns, for instance, in the same show?”
“Absurd!” said Harrasford. “Explain yourself.”
“It’s to differentiate between my invention and trick-riding from the very first,” replied Jimmy, “to show, once and for all, that mine has nothing in common with the ordinary turns you see on the stage: ‘Bridging the Abyss’ or ‘Looping the Loop.’”
“You may be right,” said Harrasford, “it will prevent confusion; yours is purely scientific. And the New Trickers: tights? Bloomers?”