Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy

by John Kendrick Bangs

  "Come in," he said, as he disappeared through the door. "I have to keepthe pantry locked."

  Jimmieboy and Bikey entered as they were bid, and the landlord closedthe door after them. The place was dimly lighted, but on the shelves,that rose one above another from floor to ceiling, all sorts of curiouslooking bottles and cakes and pies and biscuits could be seen, andJimmieboy's mouth watered at the sight.

  "What'll you have?" asked the landlord. "An air cake or a piece of freshpneumatic mince pie?"

  "A little of both," said Jimmieboy.

  "Or a bite of my gutta percha gum?" suggested the landlord.

  "Well, it's hard to say," said Jimmieboy. "Indeed, I don't know what anair cake or a pneumatic mince pie is, nor did I ever hear of guttapercha gum."

  "I know that mighty well," laughed the landlord. "Nobody ever heard ofthese patent dainties of mine, but they're the best things for thedigestion you ever saw, and they last forever. If people could onlytrain themselves to eat my food they'd be able to save money in twoways--bakers' bills and doctors' bills."

  "I don't quite understand," said Jimmieboy.

  "One of my pneumatic mince pies will show you in a jiffy," returned thelandlord. "One pie if properly cared for will last a lifetime"--

  "Not with a real live boy in the house it won't," said Jimmieboy,positively.

  "That may be all very true," said the landlord, "but if the real liveboy ate one of those pies he would cease to be a real live boy. You seethis pie is made of rubber, and all you've got to do is to blow it upwith an air pump and serve it."

  "But you called it mince pie," said Jimmieboy, very much disgusted.

  "Well, it's my pie," said the landlord. "I guess I've got a right tocall it what I please."

  "But you said it saved doctors' bills," put in Bikey, who was no betterpleased with this absurd invention than was Jimmieboy.

  "And I said right," said the landlord, with a self-satisfied smile."It's just this way:--If you eat mince pie it gives you indigestion andyou have to send for the doctor, and then you get a bill for severaldollars. Now, with my pie it's different. You can't eat it, andtherefore you can't get indigestion, and you don't have to send for adoctor. Wherefore, as I said, it saves doctors' bills. This is thelatest make--I make a new kind every year, just as the bicycle makersmake new wheels every year. A 1902 safety pneumatic mince pie costs $2;a 1901 pie I sell for $1.50."

  "And what is the difference?" asked Jimmieboy, beginning to be amused.

  "The air in this year's pie is fresher, that's all," said the landlord.

  "I suppose your air biscuits are of the same kind?" asked Bikey.

  "Yes," said the landlord, "except that I flavor 'em. If you're fond ofvanilla, or strawberry, or any other flavor, I perfume the air that ispumped into them. They're very nice."

  "What are those things on the top shelf?" asked Jimmieboy. "They looklike sausages."

  "They are sausages. I make 'em out of old tires, and they are very goodand solid. Then, over there in the icebox, I have rubber steaks andchickens--in fact, all kinds of pneumatic food. You have no idea howwell they last, and how good they are for the digestion--if you couldonly get used to them. That's the greatest trouble I have, gettingpeople used to them."

  "Don't you have any real good food here?" asked Bikey.

  "Real? Why, my dear fellow," ejaculated the landlord, "what could youask more real than those rubber viands? You could drop a railway engineon one of those rubber sausages and it would be just as solid as ever."

  "But you can't live on air!" protested Jimmieboy.

  "No more can you live without it," said the landlord, unlocking the doorand opening it, some disappointment manifested in his countenance. "Ifyou will come up to the hospital now, sir," he added, addressing Bikey,"I'll see what can be done to repair your wounds. I am sorry you do notseem to appreciate the good things in my larder."

  "We'd appreciate 'em if we could see the good of 'em," said Jimmieboy."What on earth can you do with a rubber mince pie besides not eat it?"

  "Oh! as for that, you might use it for a football," retorted thelandlord sadly, as he locked the door behind them and started down thecorridor to the hospital room.

  "I call it the hospital room," said he, "although I am aware thatdoesn't describe it. We don't take care of horses there, but as yetnobody has invented a word like bikepital, and so I do not use it. Ihave applied for a patent on that word, however, and as soon as I get itwe'll change the name."

  With these words they entered the hospital, and if the pantry was queerthe hospital was a marvel.

  V

  _IN THE HOSPITAL AND HOME AGAIN_

  "Come right in," said the landlord, stepping into the hospital. "We'llfix Bikey up in a jiffy, and as for young Mr. Jimmieboy, we'll see whatcan be done to improve his appetite for our gutta percha pies."

  Jimmieboy glanced apprehensively at the old gentleman. He did not likethe tone in which the remark was made.

  "Thank you, Mr. Landlord," he said, after thinking for a moment, "butyou needn't bother about me. I can get along very well without likingthem. The kind of pies that we have at home are plenty good enough forme, and I don't really care to like yours, thank you." Jimmieboy hadtried to be at least polite. The landlord laughed unpleasantly.

  "Humph!" he sneered, "that doesn't make any difference to us. Articlenumber seven, paragraph sixty-three, of the hotel laws of Saturnrequires that you SHALL like the food we serve at this hotel, whetheryou want to or not. Therefore, what you want or don't want to like cutsno figure here. You will have to be operated upon, and that portion ofyour anatomy which does not welcome the best pneumatic pie that ever wasmade will be removed."

  Jimmieboy immediately perceived that he was in trouble, for the landlordspoke with great determination and, what was more, had locked the doorbehind him, so that the boy was practically a prisoner. Escape seemedimpossible, and yet escape he must, for no one could relish the idea ofbecoming a patient at the Bicycle Hospital. To gain time to think, heobserved as civilly as he could:--

  "It seems to me, Mr. Landlord, that that is a curious law. Just becausea traveller doesn't like the food at your hotel he's got to go to ahospital and stay there until he does like it. Isn't that a triflequeer?"

  "Nothing queer about it at all," retorted the landlord savagely."Nothing queer about it at all. Naturalest law in all the world. I'm notin business for fun, as I've already told you, and if I left any stoneunturned to compel people to like my house I should be ruined. My guestshave got to like everything, including me--I, myself, see? When I pay abig tax to the government for the privilege of doing business thegovernment has got to do something to help me on in that business, and,fortunately for us, in Saturn we've got a government that is just chockfull of justice and common sense.

  "When I first started up here nobody liked the food I served, and aftercoming here once most of them never came again. Ruin was staring me inthe face, so I went to the capital and I told the government that theyhad to do something for me, and they did. They passed an act compellingpeople to like my food under penalty of $500 a dislike, or six months inmy hospital, where I am authorized to regard them as patients. Now youcan take your choice. You don't like the pie, you don't like thesausage, you don't like the rubber chops and the bicycle saddle stew youlook upon with disfavor. There are four things you don't like.

  "Now you can do any one of three things. Eat all four of these dishes,pay a fine of $2,000 or stay here in the hospital and undergo a courseof treatment. I don't care which. There's one thing certain. I'm notgoing to let you out of this place until you like everything about it."

  Jimmieboy glanced uneasily at Bikey, who was leaning carelessly againstthe wall as if he were not at all bothered by the situation.

  "But I've got to go to school to-morrow, Mr. Landlord," he put in."Can't you let me off long enough to finish my term at school, and thenwhen vacation comes maybe I'll come back?"

  "No siree!" ejaculated the landlord. "I know what yo
u are up to. You'renothing but a boy, and boys don't like schools any better than you likemy pneumatic pies. You stay right here."

  "Oh, tell him you like 'em, Jimmieboy," put in Bikey. "Tell him theybeat mince all holler and pumpkin isn't in it with 'em. Tell him lifewould be a barren waste and every heart full of winter if it wasn't for'em. Pile it on and let's get out. I'm getting nervous."

  "Well, so they are in a way," said Jimmieboy. "The fact is, they're thefinest pies ever made."

  The landlord's face brightened up.

  "To eat?" he asked eagerly.

  "N-n-o," stammered Jimmieboy. "Not to eat--but to play football with orto use for punching bags."

  The landlord froze up immediately.

  "That settles your case," he snapped. "I'll put you in the violent wardand to-morrow morning we'll begin a course of treatment that will makeyou wish you'd liked 'em from the beginning. And now for you, sir," thelandlord added severely, turning to Bikey. "How about you and mypneumatic pies?"

  "Oh," said Bikey, with a joyful fling of his right pedal. "I simplyadore those pies. Indeed, if there's anything I love in the world it isgutta percha food. Have you any rubber neck clams?"

  The landlord beamed approval. "You are a bikleman of sense," said he. "Iwill order up a pneumatic rhubarb at once."

  Bikey's saddle turned pale.

  "Oh, please don't trouble yourself, Mr. Landlord," he said, pullinghimself together. "I--ah--I should love to have it, for if there is onething in the world I love more than rheumatic pneubarb--I meanrheubarbic pneumat pie--I don't know what it is, but my doctor hasordered me not to touch it for a year at least. 'Mr. Bike,' said he thelast time I saw him, 'you are killing yourself by eating piebarbroobs--I mean roobarb pies--they are too rich for your tubes, Mr. Bike,'were his precise words. And he added that if I didn't quit eating themmy pedals would be full of gout and that even my cyclometer wouldsqueak."

  "Under the circumstances," said the landlord, with an approving nod atBikey, "I shall not take it amiss if you refuse to eat them. But youryoung friend here must remain and be treated. Meanwhile, I shall haveyour wounds repaired and let you go. Mr. Jimmieboy will be sentforthwith to the violent ward."

  "Serves him good and right," Jimmieboy was appalled to hear Bikey reply.Here he was off in a strange, wild place, in the hands of an enemy, whothreatened him with all sorts of dreadful things, and his only friendhad gone back on him.

  "Bikey!" said he, reproachfully.

  "Served you right," roared Bikey. "Not to like the good gentleman'spies. Your father has told you again and again to always like what isput before you. You impolite child, you!"

  Jimmieboy's pride alone kept him from bursting into tears, and hesorrowfully permitted himself without further resistance to be led awayinto the violent ward of the Inn Hospital.

  "To think that he should go back on me!" the boy sighed as he enteredthe prison. "On me who never did him any harm but break his handlebarsand bust his tires unintentionally."

  But Jimmieboy, in his surprise and chagrin had failed to note the winkin Bikey's cyclometer, which all the time that he had been speaking wasviolently agitating itself in an effort to attract his attention and tolet him know that his treachery was not real, but only seeming.

  "Now," said the landlord kindly to Bikey, as Jimmieboy was led away,"let us attend to you. I'll call the doctor. Doctor Pump!" he added,calling the name loudly in a shrill voice.

  "Here, sir," replied the head physician, running in from an adjoiningroom.

  "Here's a chap who likes air pies so much that his doctor forbids him toeat them. I wish you'd fix him up at once," said the landlord.

  "He must be insane," said Dr. Pump, "I'll send him to the asylum."

  "Not I!" cried Bikey. "I'm merely punctured."

  "His wheels have gone to his head," said Dr. Pump, feeling the pulse inBikey's pedals.

  "Nonsense," said Bikey. "Impossible. I haven't any head."

  "H'm!" returned Dr. Pump, scratching his chin. "Very true. In making mydiagnosis I had failed to observe the fact that you are an ordinarybrainless wheel. Let me look at your tires."

  Bikey held them out.

  "Do you prefer homeopathic or allopathic treatment?" asked Dr. Pump. "Weare broadminded here and give our patients their choice."

  "What difference does it make in the bill?" asked Bikey.

  "None," said Dr. Pump, grandly. "It is merely a difference in treatment.If you wish homeopathic treatment we will cure your tires, which seem tobe punctured, with a porous plaster, since like cures like under thatsystem. If, on the other hand, you are an allopath, we will pump youfull of rubber."

  "I think I prefer what they call absent treatment," said Bikey, meekly."Can't you cure me over the telephone? I'm a Christian Scientist."

  They had never heard of this at Saturn, so Bikey was compelled to submitto one of the two other courses of treatment, and he wisely chose theporous plaster to cure his puncture, since that required merely anexternal application, and did not involve his swallowing anything whichmight later have affected his general health.

  Meanwhile poor Jimmieboy was locked up in the violent ward. It was along low-ceiled room filled with little cots, and the lad found nocomfort in the discovery that there were plenty more patients in theroom.

  "Why, the room's full, isn't it?" he said, as he entered.

  "Yes," replied the bicycle attendant, who had shown him in. "In fact,everybody who comes to this house ends up here. Somehow or other, nobodylikes the landlord's food, and nobody ever has money enough along to paythe fine. It is curious how little money bicyclists take along withthem when they are out for a ride. In all my experience I haven'tencountered one with more than a thousand dollars in his pocket."

  "How long does one have to stay here?" asked Jimmieboy.

  "Until one likes the food," said the attendant. "So far nobody has evergot out, so I can't say how long they stay in years."

  Again the boy's heart sank, and he crawled into his cot, wretched inspirit and wholly unhappy.

  "I've given you a bed by the window," said the attendant, "because theair is fresher there. The landlord says you are the freshest boy he evermet, and we have arranged the air accordingly. I wouldn't try to escapeif I were you, because the window looks out on the very edge of the ringof Saturn, and it's a jump of about 90,000,000 miles to anything solid.The jump is easy, but the solid at the other end is very, very hard."

  Jimmieboy looked out of the window, and immediately drew back, appalled,for there was nothing but unfathomable space above, below, or beyondhim, and he gave himself up to despair.

  But the boy had really reckoned without his friend Bikey, who was asstanch and true as ever, as Jimmieboy was soon to find out.

  He had lain in his little bed barely more than an hour, when fromoutside the window there came a whisper:--"Hi, there, Jimmieboy!"

  Jimmieboy got up on his elbow to listen, but just then the door openedand Dr. Pump, accompanied by the landlord, walked in. So he lay back andthe words at the window were not repeated.

  Dr. Pump walked to the side of Jimmieboy's cot.

  "Well, young man," said he, "what do you think of air pies up here,now?"

  "They're bully," said Jimmieboy, weakly, and resolved to give in.

  "H'm," said Dr. Pump. "Bad case, this. I can't say whether of insanityor compulsion. There's only one course. We'll order a pie. If he'sinsane he'll eat it. If he is acting under compulsion"----

  "I won't eat it," roared Jimmieboy, springing up from his pillow. "Iwon't; I won't; I won't. I'll take cod liver oil on my strawberriesfirst!"

  His was evidently an awful case, for immediately Dr. Pump, the nurse andthe landlord and every patient in the place fled from the room,shrieking with terror.

  "Good for you! You've scared them silly," whispered the voice at thewindow. "Now, Jimmieboy, hurry. Jump out. I'll catch you and we'll beoff. Be quick, for they'll be back in a moment. Jump!"

  "Who are you?" cried Jimmieboy, for he was st
ill the same cautiouslittle traveller.

  "Bikey! I only went back on you to help you!" he said. "Jump!"

  And then the door opened again, and the landlord and Dr. Pump and thenurses and all the patients and a platoon of policemen crashed into theroom.

  "Catch him, quick!" cried the landlord. But Jimmieboy had alreadyjumped, landing upon the friendly saddle of Bikey. In an instant hefound himself speeding away through space.

  "Are we still on Saturn?" he gasped.

  "Not we!" cried Bikey. "That place is too hot for us. We're not onanything. I'm simply tumbling through the clouds and whirring my wheelsfor fun. I like to see the wheels go round. Don't bother. We'll landsomewhere."

  "But," cried Jimmieboy, "where?"

  And then there was a crash. Bikey made no reply, but----

  * * * * *

  "Here," said a well known and affectionate voice.

  "Where's here?" asked Jimmieboy, faintly, opening his eyes and gazing upinto a very familiar face.

  "You interrupted me, my son," remarked the owner of the familiar face."I was about to say, 'Here now, Jimmieboy, this business of falling outof bed has got to stop.' This is the fifth time in two weeks that I havehad to restore you to your comfortable couch. Where have you been thistime?"

  "Off with Bikey," murmured Jimmieboy, rubbing his eyes and gazing abouthis nursery.

  "Nonsense," said his daddy, the owner of the familiar voice. "WithBikey? Why Bikey has been in the laundry all night." Which fact Bikeynever denied, but nowadays when the incident is mentioned he agitateshis cyclometer violently, and shakes all over as if he thought it was agood joke on somebody.