HE MOUNTS A BYCICLE.

Patea Mail, 20 January 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)

HE MOUNTS A BYCICLE.

The Brooklyn Eagle has started Spoopendyke as a byciclist: “ Now, my dear,” said he, hurrying up to his wife’s room, “ if you will come down in the yard, I’ve got a pleasant surprise for you.” “ What is it ?” asked Mrs. Spoopendyke, “ what have you got, a horse.” “ Guess again,” grinned Mr.Spoopendyke. “ It’s something like a horse.” “ IJknow. It’s a new parlour carpet, that’s what it is.” “ No, it isn’t either. I said it’s something like a horse ; that is, it goes when you make it. Guess again.” “ Is it paint for the kitchen walls ?” asked Mrs. Spoopendyke innocently. “ No, it ain’t; and it ain’t a hogshead of stove blacking, nor it ain’t a set of diningroom furniture, nor it ain’t a gross of stationary washtubs. Now guess again.” “ Then it must be some lace curtains for the sitting-room windows. Isn’t that just splendid ?” And Mrs. Spoopendyke patted her husband on both cheeks, and danced up and down with delight. “ It’s a bycicle, that’s what it is,” growled Mr. Spoopendyke. “ I bought it for exercise, and I’m going to ride it. Come down and see me.”

“ Well, ain’t I glad,” ejaculated Mrs. Spoopendyke. “ You ought to have more exercise, and if there’s exercise in anything it’s in a bicycle. Do let’s see it!” Mr. Spoopendyke conducted his wife to the yard, and descanted at length on the merits of the machine. “In a few weeks I’ll he able to make a mile a minute,” he said, as he steadied the apparatus against the clothes post and prepared to mount. “Now you watch me go to the end of this path.” He got his foot into one treadle and went head first into a flower patch, the machine on the top with a prodigious crash. “ Hadn’t you better tie it up to the post until you get on,” suggested Mrs. Spoondyke. “ Leave me alone, will ye ?” demanded Mr Spoopendyke, struggling to an even keel. “I’m doing most of this myself. Now you hold on and keep your mouth shut. It takes a little practice, that’s all.” Mr. Spoondyke mounted again and scuttled along four or five feet and hopped over on the grass plot. “ That’s splendid !” commended his wife. “ You’ve got the idea already. Let me hold it for you this time.” “If you’ve got any exlra strength you hold your tongue, will ye ? ’ growled Mr. Spoopendyke. “ It don’t want any holding. It ain’t alive. Stand back and give me room now.” The third time Mr Spoopendyke ambled to the end of the path and went down all of a heap among the flower pots. “ That’s just too lovely for anything!” proclaimed Mrs. Spoopendyke. “ You made more’n a mile a minute, that time !” “ Come and take it off!” roared Mr. Spopendyke. “Help me up! Dod gast the bicycle !” and the worthy gentleman struggled and plunged around like a whale in shallow water. -

Mrs. Spoopendyke assisted in righting him and brushed him off. “I know where you made your mistake,” said she. “ The little wheel ought to go first, like a buggy. Try it that way going back.” “ Maybe you can ride this bicycle better than I can!” bowled Mr. Spoopendyke. “ You know all about wheels ! What you need now is a lantern in your mouth and 10 minutes behind time to be the City Hall clock! If you had a bucket of water and a handle you’d make a steam grindstone! Don’t you see the big wheel has got to go first?” “ Yes dear,” murmured Mrs. Spoopendyke, “ but I thought if you practised with the little wheel at first, you wouldn’t have so far to fall.” “ Who fell ?” demanded Mr. Spoopendyke. “.Didn’t you see me step off ? I tripped; that’s all. Now, you just watch me go back.” ‘, Once more Mr. Spoopendyke started in, but the big wheel turned around and looked him in the face, and then began to stagger. " Look out !” squealed Mrs. Spoopendyke. Mr. Spoopendyke wrenched away, and kicked and, struggled, but it was of no avail, Down he came, and the bicycle was a hopeless wreck; “ W liaf d ye want to yell for P” he shrieked. “ Couldn’t you keep your noisy mouth shut ? What d’ye think y’are, any how—a fog horn ? Burst the;: beastly bicycle !” and Mr. Spoopendyke gave it a kick that folded him up like a bolt of muslin. "Never mind my dear,” consoled Mrs. Spoopendyke; “ I’m afraid the, exercise was too violent anyway, and I’m .rather, glad you broke it.” ", " I s’pose so,” snorted Mr. Spoopendyke. “ There’s 60 dollars gone.” “ Don’t worry, love. ; I’ll go without the carpet and curtains, and the paint will do well enough in the kitchen., Let me rub you with arnica.” But Mr. Spoopendyke was too deeply grieved by his wife’s conduct to accept any office at her hands, preferring to punish himself by letting his wounds smart rather than to get well, and thereby relieve her of any anxiety she brought on herself by acting so outrageously under the circumstances.