قراءة كتاب Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling

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‏اللغة: English
Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling

Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 6

tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">Unlicensed Pedallers

Unlicensed Pedallers.—Cyclists.


TO MARIE, RIDING MY BICYCLE

Brake, brake, brake

On my brand-new tyre, Marie!

And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fishmonger's boy

That his tricycle's mean and squalid;

O well for the butcher lad

That the tyres of his wheel are solid!

And the reckless scorchers scorch

With hanging purple heads,

But O for the tube that is busted up

And the tyre that is cut to shreds.

Brake, brake, brake—

Thou hast broken indeed, Marie,

And the rounded form of my new Dunlop

Will never come back to me.


A Suggestion in Nomenclature.—The old name of "Turnpike Roads" has, long ago, with the almost universal disappearance of the ancient turnpikes, become obsolete. Nowadays, bicycles being "always with us," why not for "Turnpike Roads" substitute "Turn-bike roads"? This ought to suit the "B. B. P.," or "Bicycling British Public."


Oh, did you see a gentleman on a bicycle

"Oh, did you see a gentleman on a bicycle as you came up?"

"No; but I saw a man sitting at the bottom of the hill mending an old umbrella!"

No; but I saw a man sitting at the bottom of the hill


THAT BICYCLE LAMP

The other Sunday afternoon I rode over on my bicycle to see the Robinsons. They live seven miles away. Tomkins and others were there. People who live in remote country places always seem pleased to see a fellow creature, but Robinson and his wife are unusually hospitable and good-natured. After I had had some tea, and thought of leaving, a hobnail was discovered in the tyre of Tomkin's bicycle. He, being very athletic, was playing croquet, a game which requires vast muscular strength. However, he said that his tyres were something quite new, and that in one minute one man, or even one child, could stick one postage-stamp, or anything of the sort, over that puncture and mend it. So all the rest of us and the butler, principally the butler, who is an expert in bicycles, went at it vigorously, and after we had all worked for nearly an hour the tyre was patched up, and Tomkins, having finished his game, rode coolly away. I was going to do the same, but Robinson wouldn't hear of it—I must stay to dinner. I said I had no lamp for riding home in the dark. He would lend me his. I said I should have to dine in knickerbockers. That didn't matter in the country. So I stayed till 9.30.

The next Sunday I rode over again. I started directly after lunch, lest I should seem to have come to dinner, and I gave the butler that lamp directly I arrived. But it was all no good, for I stayed till 10, and had to borrow it again.

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