Yardsley. Well, it seems to me that a man with a wife in jail needn’t be too stuck up to ride a bicycle. But—by-by—I’m off. [Exit.
Mrs. Perkins. Poor Emma—out for freedom, and lands in jail. What horrid things policemen are, to arrest a woman!
Bradley (indignantly). Served her right! If women won’t obey the law they ought to be arrested, the same as men. If she wasn’t my wife, I’d like to see her sent up for ten years or even twenty years. Women have got no business—
Barlow. Don’t get mad, Brad. If you knew the fascination of the wheel you wouldn’t blame her a bit.
Bradley (calming down). Well—I suppose it has some fascination.
Perkins (anxious to escape further lessons). Oh, indeed, it’s a most exhilarating sensation: you seem to be flying like a bird over the high-ways. Try it, Ned. Go on, right away. You don’t know how that little ride I had braced me up.
Barlow (wish a laugh). There! Hear that! There’s a man who’s ridden only eight inches in all his life—and he says he felt like a bird!
Perkins (aside). Yes—like a spring chicken split open for broiling. Next time I ride a wheel it’ll be four wheels, with a horse fastened in front. Oh my! oh my! I believe I’ve broken my back too. [Lies down.
Bradley. You seem to be exhilarated, Thaddeus.
Perkins (bracing up). Oh, I am, I am. Never felt worse—that is, better.