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?
Yardsley. Simple beauty. Is she pumped up?
Perkins. Beg your pardon?
Yardsley. Pumped up, tires full and tight—ready for action—support an elephant?
Perkins. Guess so—my—I mean, the agent said it was perfect.