Puppets at Large: Scenes and Subjects from Mr Punch's Show

The Bicycle. No; my mistress's, Miss Diana's. I'd just taken her out for a short spin – not far, only fifteen miles or so.

Bayard. Then, she – she's quite well?

The Bicycle. Thanks, she's pedalling pretty strong just now. I'm going out with her again this afternoon.

Bayard. Again! You will have had a hard day of it altogether, then. But I suppose you'll get a day or two's rest afterwards? I know I should want it.

The Bicycle. Bless you, I never want rest. Why, I've been forty miles with her, and come home without clanking a link! She was knocked up, if you like – couldn't go out for days!

Bayard. Ah, she was never knocked up after riding me!

The Bicycle. Because – it's no fault of yours, of course, but the way you've been constructed – you couldn't go far enough to knock anybody up. And she doesn't get tired now, either. I'm not the kind of bicycle to boast; but I've often heard her say that she much prefers her "bike" (she always calls me her "bike" – very nice and friendly of her, isn't it?) to any mere horse.

Bayard. To any mere horse! And does she – give any reasons?

The Bicycle. Lots. For one thing, she says she feels so absolutely safe on me; she knows that, whatever she meets, I shall never start, or shy, or rear, or anything of that sort.

Bayard. I don't remember playing any of those tricks with her, however hard she pulled the curb.

The Bicycle. Then she says she never has to consider whether any distance will be too much for me.

Bayard. As for that– But the longer I was out with her, the better I was pleased; she might have brought me home as lame as a tree all round, and I shouldn't have cared!

The Bicycle. Perhaps not. But she would; so inconvenient, you see. Now my strong point is, I can't go lame – in good hands, of course, and she knows exactly how to manage me, I will say that for her!

Bayard. Does she give you carrots or sugar after a ride? she did me.

The Bicycle (with a creak of contempt). Now what do you suppose I could do with sugar or a carrot if I had it? No, a drop or two of oil now and then is all I take in the way of sustenance. That's another point in my favour, I cost little or nothing to keep. Now, your oats and hay and stuff, I daresay, cost more in a year than I'm worth altogether!

Bayard.. I must admit that you have the advantage of me in cheapness. If I thought she grudged me my oats – But I'm afraid I couldn't manage on a drop or two of oil.

The Bicycle. You'd want buckets of it to oil your bearings. No, she wouldn't save by that! (Stubbs re-enters.) Ah, here comes my man. I must be going; got to take her over to Pineborough, rather a bore this dusty weather, but when a lady's in the case, eh?

Bayard. There's a nasty hill going into Pineborough; do be careful how you take her down it!

The Bicycle. You forget, my friend, I'm not a Boneshaker, I'm a Safety. Why, she'll just put her feet up on the rests, fold her arms, and leave the rest to me. She knows I can be trusted.

Bayard. Just tell me this before you go. Does – she doesn't pat you, or kiss you on your – er – handle-bar after a run, does she?

The Bicycle (turning its front wheel to reply, as Stubbs wheels it out). You don't imagine I should stand any sentimental rot of that sort, do you? She knows better than to try it on!

Bayard (to himself). I'm glad she doesn't kiss it. I don't think I could have stood that!

Same Scene. Some Hours Later.

Stubbs (enters, carrying a dilapidated machine with crumpled handles, a twisted saddle, and a front wheel distorted into an irregular pentagon). Well, I 'ope as 'ow this'll sarve as a lesson to 'er, I dew; a marcy she ain't broke her blessed little neck! (To the Bicycle.) No need to be hover and above purtickler 'bout scratchin' your enamel now, any'ow! (He pitches it into a corner, and goes.)

Bayard (after reconnoitring). You don't mean to say it's you!

The Bicycle. Me? of course it's me! A nice mess I'm in, too, entirely owing to her carelessness. Never put the brake on down that infernal hill, lost all control over me, and here I am, a wreck, Sir! Why, I had to be driven home, by a grinning groom, in a beastly dog-cart! Pleasant that!

Bayard. But she – Miss Diana – was she hurt? Not – not seriously, eh?

The Bicycle. Oh, of course you don't care what becomes of me so long as —She's all right enough – fell in a ditch, luckily for her, I came down on a heap of stones. It'll be weeks before I'm out of the repairer's hands.

Bayard (to himself). I oughtn't to be glad; but I am – I am! She's safe, and – and she'll come back to me after this! (To the Bicycle.) Wasn't she sorry for you?

The Bicycle. Not she! These women have no feeling in them. Why, what do you suppose she said when they told me it would take weeks to tinker me up?

Bayard (to himself – with joy). I think I can guess! (To the Bicycle.) What did she say?

The Bicycle (rattling with indignation). Why, all she said was: "How tiresome! I wonder if I can hire a decent bike here without having to send to town for one." There's gratitude for you! But you can't enter into my feelings about it.

Bayard. Pardon me – I fancy I can. And, after all, your day will come, when the Vet has set you up again. Mine's over for ever. (To himself.) Oh, why, why wasn't I born a bicycle!

A DOLL'S DIARY

January 1.– Just had a brilliant idea —quite original. I don't believe even any human person ever thought of such a thing, but then, – besides being extremely beautiful and expensive, with refined wax features and golden hair – I am a very clever doll indeed. Frivolous, no doubt; heartless, so they tell me – but the very reverse of a fool. I flatter myself that if anybody understands the nature of toys, especially male toys – but I am forgetting my idea – which is this. I am going this year to write down – the little girl I belong to has no idea I can write, but I can– and better than she does, too! – to write down every event of importance that happens, with the dates. There! I fancy that is original enough. It will be a valuable dollian document when it is done, and most interesting to look back upon. Now I must wait for something to happen.

January 6.– Went to Small Dance given by the Only Other Wax Doll (a dreadful old frump!) on the Nursery Hearthrug. Room rather nicely illuminated by coloured fire from grate, and a pyramid nightlight, but floor poor. Didn't think much of the music – a fur monkey at the Digitorium, and a woolly lamb who brought his own bellows, make rather a feeble orchestra. Still, on the whole, enjoyed myself. Much admired. Several young Ninepins, who are considered stuck-up, and keep a good deal to their own set, begged to be introduced. Sat out one dance with a Dice-box, who rattled away most amusingly. I understand he is quite an authority on games, and anything that falls from his mouth is received with respect. He is a great sporting character, too, and arranges all the meetings on the Nursery Race-course, besides being much interested in Backgammon. I do like a Toy to have manly tastes!

The Captain of a Wooden Marching Regiment quartered in the neighbourhood was there in full uniform, but not dancing. Told me they didn't in his regiment. As his legs are made in one piece and glued on to a yellow stand, inclined to think this was not mere military swagger. He seemed considerably struck with me. Made an impression, too, on a rather elderly India-rubber Ball. Snubbed him, as one of the Ninepins told me he was considered "a bit of a bounder."

Some of the Composition Dolls, I could see, were perfectly stiff with spite and envy. Spent a very pleasant evening, not getting back to my drawer till daylight. Too tired to write more.

Mem.– Not to sit out behind the coal-scuttle another time!

February 14.– Amount of attention I receive really quite embarrassing. The Ninepins are too absurdly devoted. One of them (the nicest of all) told me to-day he had never been so completely bowled over in his whole existence! I manage to play them off against each other, however. The India-rubber Ball, too, is at my feet – and, naturally, I spurn him, but he is so short-winded that nothing will induce him to rise. Though naturally of an elastic temperament, he has been a good deal cast down of late. I smile on him occasionally – just to keep the Ball rolling; but it is becoming a frightful bore.

March.– Have been presented with a charming pony-carriage, with two piebald ponies that go by clock work. I wish, though, I was not expected to share it with a live kitten! The kitten has no idea of repose, and spoils the effect of the turn-out. Try not to seem aware of it – even when it claws my frock. Rather interested in a young Skipjack, whom I see occasionally; he is quite good-looking, in a common sort of way. I talk to him now and then – it is something to do; and he is a new type, so different from the Ninepins!

April 1.– Have just heard the Skipjack is engaged to a plaster Dairy-maid. A little annoyed, because he really seemed – Have been to see his fiancée, a common-place creature, with red cheeks, and a thick waist. Congratulate the Skipjack, with just a hint that he might have looked higher. Afraid that he misunderstood me, for he absolutely jumped.

April 7.– The Skipjack tells me he has broken off his engagement; he seems to think I shall guess the reason – but I don't, of course. Then he actually has the impertinence to (I can scarcely pen the words for indignation) to propose– to Me! I inform him, in the most unmistakable terms, that he has presumed on my good-nature, and that there are social barriers between us, which no Skipjack can ever surmount. He leaves me abruptly, after declaring that I have broken the spring of his existence.

April 8.– Much shocked and annoyed. The Skipjack found quite stiff and colourless this morning, in the water-jug! Must have jumped in last night. So very rash and silly of him! Am sure I gave him no encouragement – or next to none. Hear that the Dairy-maid has gone off her head. Of course it will be put down to grief; but we all know how easily plaster heads get cracked. Feel really distressed about it all, for the blame is sure to fall on me. Those Composition Dolls will make a fine scandal out of it!

May.– The Ninepins are getting very difficult to manage; have to put them down as delicately as possible; but I am afraid, poor fellows, they are dreadfully upset. The Wooden Captain has challenged the Dice-box to a duel – I fear, on my account. However, as the officer's sword will not unglue, I hope nothing will come of it. All this most worrying, though, and gives me little real satisfaction. I find myself sighing for more difficult conquests.

June.– Went to afternoon tea with the biggest Dutch Doll. Rather a come-down, but now that there is this coolness between the Composition set and myself, I must go somewhere. I feel so bored at times! Can see the ridiculous Dutch thing is trying to out-dress me! She had a frock on that must have cost at least fifty beads, and I don't believe it will ever be paid for! Only made her look the bigger guy, though! Tea-party a stupid affair. Make-believe tea in pewter cups. Met the latest arrival, a really nice-looking Gentleman Doll, introduced as "Mr. Joseph." Very innocent face, without any moustache, and the sweetest blue eyes (except mine) I think I ever saw! Seemed rather shy, but pleasant. Asked him to call.

June 18.– Mr. Joseph has not called yet. Very strange! Suspect those horrid Composition Dolls have been setting him against me. Met him by the back-board and scolded him. He seemed confused. By a little management, I got it all out of him. I was right. He has been told about the Skipjack. He has strict principles, and gave me to understand that he would prefer to decline my acquaintance – which was like his impudence! This is exciting, though. I intend to overcome these scruples; I mean him to be madly in love with me – then I shall scornfully reject him, which will serve him just right!

July.– My tactics have succeeded —at last! To-day Joseph called, ostensibly to beg me to go and see the unhappy Ball, who, it seems, is terribly collapsed, reduced to a mere bowl, and so exhausted that he cannot hold out much longer. However, in the course of the interview, I soon made him oblivious of the Ball. He fell at my feet. "Beautiful Gloriana," he cried, "with all your many and glaring faults, I love you!" Then I carried out the rest of my programme – it was a painful scene, and I will only record that when he left me, he was completely un-dolled! I feel almost sorry for him – he had rather a nice face!

July 4.– I don't seem able to settle to anything. After all, I think I will go and see the poor Ball. It would comfort him, and I might see him there. I will order the pony-carriage.

August.– What has happened to me? Where have I been all this time? Let me collect myself, and see how much I remember. My last clear recollection is of being in my carriage on my way to receive the departing Ball's last sigh… Something has started the clockwork. My ponies are bolting, and I haven't the slightest control over them! We are rushing along the smooth plain of the chest of drawers, and rapidly nearing the edge. I try to scream for help, but all I can utter is, "Papa!" and "Mamma!" All at once I see him standing, calm and collected, on the very brink of the precipice. Is he strong enough to stop the ponies in their mad clockwork career, and save me, even yet? How I will love him if he does! An instant of sickening suspense … we are over! – falling down, down, down… A crash, a whirr of clockwork, a rush of bran to my head – and I know no more. What follows is a dream – a horrible, confused nightmare – of lying among a heap of limp bodies – some armless, some legless, others (ah! the horror of it) headless! I grope blindly for my own limbs – they are intact; then I feel the place where I naturally expect to find my head – it is gone!.. The shock is too much – I faint once more. And that is all.