From Swiftsure's column of 13 April 1895. Dangle is upbraiding the Bounder about his latest jaunt.
'Nice thing, gallivanting about the Continent, supping the chalice of pleasure, culling the sweets of luxurious idleness, wallowing in the epicurean sty from contraption to contraption while we at home __'
'Have been trying to acquire the gentle art of bicycle riding' I interrupted.
The magnificent one paled, and rubbed his right shin-bone. 'Someone has been telling you.'
'They have told me' I replied, 'of the fat spectre cyclist of Streatham, who cannot ride for nuts.'
Dangle paused for a moment, and then threw his glove – a woollen one with holes at both ends – on the floor. 'There is my gage of defiance,' he cried. 'Take it up if you dare.'
'I will have no truckage with you,' I said, 'But there is my gauntlet.' Throwing down a cotton glove perforated like a sieve.
'We shall meet at Ashbourne, said he, 'Clarionette shall be my henchman and inflator bearer.'
'Whiffly shall perform a like office for me, and I will race you for everything you are not worth.'
'And the Board Championship,' said he.
'And the Board Championship.'
We bowed, and Dangle retired for more practice.
Selah. Let this be an instruction to my Birmingham subjects to rally round their president, who is sore bested. Ho, there Whiffly the
PIPKIN
If I don't give Dangle beans my name is not
THE BOUNDER.