"If those chaps would stop howling!" exclaimed one of the men, in
desperation, stalking off a bit to cram his hands in his pocket, and
ejaculate this to a companion.
"It's pretty hard on the kids," remarked the friend, with a glance over his
shoulder at Frick and the rest of the boys, who added to the misery by
crowding up to the scene and impeding the progress of all would-be helpers.
"He's dead, it's easy to see," observed the first man, nodding over to the
group.
"That's a fact, it looks like it," nodded the friend. "Well, it's a bad
thing, but no one's at fault. Mac couldn't help it. The little beggar ran
right under the horses."
"Oh, Mac's not to blame," said the first speaker hastily, "but it's an
awful calamity just the same, to run down a kid. Well, we must pacify the
ladies." So the two walked back and up to the side of the coach, when the
big hats under the parasols leaned over and allowed their fair owners to be
diverted with all sorts of comforting things. And presently little Doctor
Fisher came rushing along in his gig, out of which sprang Porter Knapp
before the horse could be persuaded to stop.
[Illustration: "Oh, Larry," said Miss Taylor gently, bending over him.]
No one said a word, least of all Miss Taylor, except the Doctor, who
ordered them to right and to left, as assistants. And before long, Larry
opened his blue eyes.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195