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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"Green Fancy"

"You're scared half out of your wits. You
can't fool me. I'd be scared myself at the thought of venturing into
those woods up yonder."
"Well, then, I AM frightened," she confessed plaintively. "Almost out
of my boots."
"That settles it," he said flatly. "You shall not undertake it."
"Oh, but I must. I am expected. It is import--"
"If you are expected, why didn't some one meet you at the station?
Seems to me--"
"Hark! Do you hear--doesn't that sound like an automobile--Ah!" The
hoarse honk of an automobile horn rose above the howling wind, and an
instant later two faint lights came rushing toward them around a bend
in the mountain road. "Better late than never," she cried, her voice
vibrant once more.
He grasped her arm and jerked her out of the path of the on-coming
machine, whose driver was sending it along at a mad rate, regardless
of ruts and stones and curves. The car careened as it swung into the
pike, skidded alarmingly, and then the brakes were jammed down.
Attended by a vast grinding of gears and wheels, the rattling old car
came to a stop fifty feet or more beyond them.
"I'd sooner walk than take my chances in an antediluvian rattle-trap
like that," said the tall wayfarer, bending quite close to her ear.


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