Still in blackface, Mr. Beyer enters on a combination of automobile, motor cycle, bicycle, horse and other things. It is the queerest mechanical conglomeration imaginable. Across his right shoulder is slung a bag of golf sticks. He stops the vehicle—or, rather, it stops Itself— clear the footlights, and goes through a very funny routine of pantomimic comedy in an endeavor to get the “instrument” started. A fast exit and return with a bicycle, doing inimitable slow-riding to the melody of “Traumerel,” with all the tragic pantomiming that would ordinarily accompany a funeral cortege but interspersed with hasty turns at all four corners of the stage, eventuating into fast riding and double twists balanced on the handles bars; single wheel work and breakaway wheel stuff.