Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling by J. A. Hammerton (reading tree TXT) 📕

["It is said that the perpetrators of a recent burglary got clear away with their booty by the help of an automobile. At this rate we may expect to be attacked, ere long, by automobilist highwaymen."—Paris Correspondent of Daily Paper.]

It was midnight. The wind howled drearily over the lonely heath; the moon shone fitfully through the driving clouds. By its gleam an observer might have noted a solitary automobile painfully jolting along the rough road that lay across the common. Its speed, as carefully noted by an intelligent constable half-an-hour earlier, was 41.275 miles an hour. To the ordinary observer it would appear somewhat less. Two figures might have been descried on the machine; the one the gallant Hubert de Fitztompkyns, the other Lady Clarabella, his young and lovely bride. Clarabella shivered, and drew her sables more closely around her.

"I am frightened," she murmured. "It is so dark and cold, Hubert, and this is a well-known place for highwaymen! Suppose we should be attacked?"

"Pooh!" replied her husband, deftly manipulating the oil-can. "Who should attack us when 'tis common talk that you pawned your diamonds a month ago? Besides, we have a swivel-mounted Maxim on our machine. Ill would it fare with the rogue who—Heavens! what was that?"

From the far distance sounded a weird, unearthly noise, growing clearer and louder even as Hubert and his wife listened. It was the whistle of another automobile!

In a moment Hubert had turned on the acetylene search-light, and gazed with straining eyes down the road behind him. Then he turned to his wife. "'Tis Cutthroat giving us chase," he said simply. "Pass the cordite cartridges, please."

Lady Clarabella grew deathly pale. "I don't know where they are!" she gasped. "I think—I think I must have left them on my dressing-table."

"Then we are lost. Cutthroat is mounted on his bony Black Jet, which covers a mile a minute—and he is the most blood-thirsty ruffian on the road. Shut off steam, Clarabella! We can but yield."

"Never!" cried his wife. "Here, give me the[Pg 90] lever; we are nearly at the top of this tremendously steep hill—we will foil him yet!"

Hubert was too much astonished to speak. By terrific efforts the gallant automobile arrived at the summit, when Clarabella applied the brake. Then she gazed down the narrow road behind her. "Take the starting-lever, Hubert," she said, "and do as I tell you."

Ever louder sounded the clatter of their pursuer's machine; at last its head-light showed in the distance, as with greatly diminished speed it began to climb the hill.

"Now!" shrieked Clarabella. "Full speed astern, Hubert! Let her go!"

The automobile went backwards down the hill like a flash of lightning. Cutthroat had barely time to realise what was happening before it was upon him. Too late he tried to steer Black Jet out of the way. There was a yell, a sound of crashing steel, a cloud of steam. When it cleared away, it revealed Hubert and Clarabella still seated on their machine, which was only slightly damaged, while Cutthroat and Black Jet were knocked into countless atoms!

Great Self-restraint.—Lady in pony-cart (who has made several unsuccessful attempts to pass persevering beginner occupying the whole road). "Unless you soon fall off, I'm afraid I shall miss my train!"

[Pg 89]

"These trailers are splendid things! You must really get one and take me out, Percy!"

[Pg 91]

The Rival Forces.

(Scene—Lonely Yorkshire moor. Miles from anywhere.)

Passing Horse-dealer (who has been asked for a tow by owners of broken-down motor-car). "Is it easy to pull?"

Motorist. "Oh yes. Very light indeed!"

Horse-dealer. "Then supposin' you pull it yourselves!"

[Drives off.

[Pg 92]

The Owner (after five breakdowns and a spill). "Are y-you k-keen on r-riding home?"

His Friend. "N-not very."

The Owner. "L-let's l-leave it a-and walk, s-shall we?"

[Pg 93]

Sunday Morning.—

Cyclist (to rural policeman). "Nice crowd out this morning!"

Rural Policeman (who has received a tip). "Yes, an' yer can't do with 'em! If yer 'ollers at 'em, they honly turns round and says, 'Pip, pip'!"

[Pg 94]

Rustic (to beginner, who has charged the hedge). "It's no good, sir. They things won't jump!"

The Universal Juggernaut.—"Anyone," says the Daily Telegraph, "who has driven an automobile will know that it is quite impossible to run over a child and remain unconscious of the fact." Any one who has driven an automobile! Heavens! what a sweeping charge! Is there none innocent?

[Pg 95]

"'Tain't no use tellin' me you've broke down! Stands to reason a motor-caw goin' down 'ill's bound to be goin' too fast. So we'll put it down at about thirty mile an hour! Your name and address, sir, hif you please."

[Pg 96] URBS IN RURE ["When every one has a bicycle and flies to the suburban roads, the suburban dwellers will desert their houses and come back to crowded London to find quiet and freedom from dust."—Daily Paper.]

Time was desire for peace would still

My footsteps lure to Richmond Hill,

Or to the groves of Burnham I,

Much craving solitude, would fly;

Thence, through the Summer afternoon,

'Mid fragrant meads, knee-deep in June,

Lulled by the song of birds and bees,

I'd saunter idly at mine ease

To that still churchyard where, with Gray,

I'd dream a golden hour away,

Forgetful all of aught but this—

That peace was mine, and mine was bliss.

But now should my all-eager feet

Seek out some whilom calm retreat,

"Pip, pip!" resounds in every lane,

"Pip, pip!" the hedges ring again,

"Pip, pip!" the corn, "Pip, pip!" the rye,

"Pip, pip!" the woods and meadows cry,

As through the thirsty, fever'd day,

The red-hot scorchers scorch their way.

Peace is no longer, Rest is dead,

And sweetest Solitude hath fled;

And over all, the cycling lust

Hath spread its trail of noise and dust.

[Pg 98]

So, would I woo the joys of Quiet,

I see no more the country's riot,

But the comparatively still

Environment of Ludgate Hill.

There, 'mongst the pigeons of St. Paul's,

I muse melodious madrigals,

Or loiter where the waters sport

'Mid the cool joys of Fountain Court,

Where, undisturbed by sharp "Pip, pip!"

My nimble numbers lightly trip,

And country peace I find again

In Chancery and Fetter Lane.

Vehicular Progression.—Mr. Ikey Motor (to customer). Want a machine, sir? Certainly, we've all sorts to suit your build.

Customer. It isn't for me, but for my mother-in-law.

Mr. Ikey Motor. For your mother-in-law! How would a steam roller suit her?

[Mr. I. M. is immediately made aware that the lady in question has overheard his ill-timed jest, while the customer vanishes in blue fire.

Experto Crede.—What is worse than raining cats and dogs?—Hailing motor omnibuses.

[Pg 97]

Comprehensive.—Owner (as the car starts backing down the hill). "Pull everything you can see, and put your foot on everything else!"

[Pg 99]

Farmer (in cart). "Hi, stop! Stop, you fool! Don't you see my horse is running away?"

Driver of Motor-car (hired by the hour). "Yes, it's all very well for you to say 'stop,' but I've forgotten how the blooming thing works!"

[Pg 100]

SIMPLE ENOUGH

Yokel (in pursuit of escaped bull, to Timmins, who is "teaching himself"). "Hi, Mister! If yer catch hold of his leading-stick, he can't hurt yer!"

Anti-Bicyclist Motto.—Rather a year of Europe than a cycle of to-day.

Motto for those who "Bike."—"And wheels rush in where horses fear to tread."

[Pg 101]

A Case of Mistaken Identity.—

Major Mustard (who has been changing several of his servants). "How dare you call yourself a chauffeur?"

Alfonsoe. "Mais non! Non, monsieur! Je ne suis pas 'chauffeur.' J'ai dit que je suis le chef. Mais monsieur comprehend not!"

[Pg 102] CYCLES! CYCLES!! CYCLES!!! SOMETHING ABSOLUTELY NEW The Little Handle-Bar Spring

No more Accidents! No more Stolen Cycles!

All our bicycles are fitted with the Little Handle-Bar Spring, which, when pressed, causes the machine to fall into 114 pieces.

Anyone can press the spring, but it takes an expert three months to rebuild it, thus trebling the life of a bicycle.

We are offering this marvellous invention at the absurd price of

50 guineas cash down,

or 98 weekly instalments of 1 guinea. [Special reductions to company promoters and men with large families.]

We can't afford to do it for less, because when once you have bought one you will never want another.

Advice to Purchasers

Don't lose your head when the machine runs away with you down the hill; simply press the spring.

Don't wait for your rich uncle to die; just send him one of our cycles.

[Pg 104]

Don't lock your cycle up at night; merely press the spring.

Don't be misled by other firms who say that their machines will also fall to pieces; they are only trying to sell their cycles; we want to sell YOU.

Note.—We can also fit this marvellous Little Spring to perambulators, bath-chairs, and bathing machines.

We append below some two out of our million testimonials. The other 999,998 are expected every post.

July, 1906.

Dear Sirs,—I bought one of your cycles in May, 1895, and it is still as good as when I received it. I attribute this solely to the Little Handle-Bar Spring, which I pressed as soon as I received the machine.

P.S.—What do you charge for rebuilding a cycle?

August, 1906.

Gentlemen,—Last month I started to ride to Barnet on one of your cycles. When ascending Muswell Hill, I lost control of the machine, but I simply pressed the spring, and now I feel that I cannot say enough about your bike. I

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