Perkins.  That’s who I am.

Bradley.  When did you go into short trousers?

Perkins (with a feeble laugh, glancing at his clothes).  Oh, these—­ ha, ha!  I’m taking up the bicycle.  Even if it weren’t for the exhilaration of riding, it’s a luxury to wear these clothes.  Old flannel shirt, old coat, old pair of trousers shortened to the knee, and golf stockings.  I’ve had these golf stockings two years, and never had a chance to wear ’em till now.

Bradley.  You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?  How many lessons have you had?

Perkins.  None yet.  Fact is, just got my wheel—­that’s it over there by the door—­pneumatic tires, tool-chest, cyclometer, lamp—­all for a hun.

Bradley (with a laugh).  How about life-insurance?  Do they throw in a policy for that?  They ought to.

Perkins.  No—­but they would if I’d insisted.  Competition between makers is so great, they’ll give you most anything to induce a bargain.  The only thing they really gave me extra is the ki-yi gun.

Mrs. Perkins.  The what?

Perkins.  Ki-yi gun—­it shoots dogs.  Dog comes out, catches sight of your leg—­

Bradley.  Mistakes it for a bone and grabs—­eh?

Perkins.  Well—­I fancy that’s about the size of it.  You can’t very well get off, so you get out your ki-yi gun and shoot ammonia into the beast’s face.  It doesn’t hurt the dog, but it gives him something to think of.  I’ll show you how the thing works. (Gets the gun from tool-box.) This is the deadly weapon, and I’m the rider—­ see? (Sits on a chair, with face to back, and works imaginary pedals.) You’re the dog.  I’m passing the farm-yard.  Bow-wow! out you spring—­grab me by the bone—­I—­ah—­I mean the leg.  Pouf!  I shoot you with ammonia. [Suits action to the word.

Bradley (starting back).  Hi, hold on!  Don’t squirt that infernal stuff at me!  My dear boy, get a grip on yourself.  I’m not really a ki-yi, and while I don’t like bicyclists, their bones are safe from me.  I won’t bite you.

Mrs. Perkins.  Really—­I think that’s a very ingenious arrangement; don’t you, Mr. Bradley?

Bradley.  I do, indeed.  But, as long as we’re talking about it, I must say I think what Thaddeus really needs is a motormangun, to squirt ammonia, or even beer, into the faces of these cable-car fellows.  They’re more likely to interfere with him than dogs—­don’t you think?

Perkins.  It’s a first-rate idea, Brad.  I’ll suggest it to my agent.

Bradley.  Your what?

Perkins (apologetically).  Well, I call him my agent, although really I’ve only bought this one wheel from him.  He represents the Czar Manufacturing Company.

Bradley.  They make Czars, do they?

Perkins (with dignity).  They make wheels.  The man who owns the company is named Czar.  I refer to him as my agent, because from the moment he learned I thought of buying a wheel he came and lived with me.  I couldn’t get rid of him, and finally in self-defence I bought this wheel.  It was the only way I could get rid of him.