Mr Hawkins Humorous Adventures | Page 3

yourself off!"
Hawkins regarded me with much the expression the early Christians
must have worn when conducted into the arena.
"No," he shouted. "It's"--bump--"it's all right. It'll"--bump--"work in a
minute."
"No, it won't! Jump, for Heaven's sake, jump!"
I think that Hawkins had framed a reply, but just then a particularly
hard bump appeared to knock the breath out of his body. He took a
better grip on the bridle and said no more.
I hardly knew what to do. Every minute brought us nearer to the town,
where traffic is rather heavy all day.
Up to now we had had a clear track, but in another five minutes a
collision would be almost as inevitable as the sunset.
I endeavored to recall the "First Aid to the Injured" treatment for
fractured skulls and broken backs, and I thanked goodness that there
would be only one auto to complete the mangling of Hawkins' remains,
should they drop into the road after the smash.
Would there? I glanced backward and gasped. Others had joined the
pursuit, and I was merely the vanguard of a procession.
Twenty feet to the rear loomed the black muzzle of Enos Jackson's
trotter, with Jackson in his little road-cart. Behind him, three bicyclists
filled up the gap between the road-cart and Dr. Brotherton's buggy.
I felt a little better at seeing Brotherton there. He set my hired man's leg
two years ago, and made a splendid job.
There was more of the cavalcade behind Brotherton, although the dust
revealed only glimpses of it; but I had seen enough to realize that if

Hawkins' brake did work, and Hawkins' mare stopped suddenly, there
was going to be a piled-up mass of men and things in the road that for
sheer mixed-up-edness would pale the average freight wreck.
Maud maintained her pace, and I did my best to keep up.
By this time I could see the reason for her mad flight. When the
explosion, or whatever it was, took place in the brake machinery, a
jagged piece of brass had been forced into her side, and there it
remained, stabbing the poor old beast with conscientious regularity at
every leap.
I was still trying to devise some way of pulling loose the goad and
persuading Maud to slow down when we entered town.
At first the houses whizzed past at intervals of two or three seconds;
but it seemed hardly half a minute before we came in sight of the
square and the court house. We were creating quite an excitement, too.
People screamed frantically at us from porches and windows and the
sidewalk.
Occasionally a man would spring into the road to stop Maud, think
better of it, and spring out again.
One misguided individual hurled a fence-rail across the path. It didn't
worry Maud in the slightest, for she happened to be all in the air while
passing over that particular point, but when the auto went over the rail
it nearly jarred out my teeth.
Another fellow pranced up, waving a many-looped rope over his head.
I think Maud must have transfixed him with her fiery eye, for before he
could throw it his nerve failed and he scuttled back to safety.
Those who had teams hitched in the square were hurrying them out of
danger, and when we whirled by the court-house only one buggy
remained in the road.
That buggy belonged to Burkett, the constable. The town pays Burkett

a percentage on the amount of work he does, and Burkett is keen on
looking up new business.
"Stop, there!" he shouted, as we came up. "Stop!"
Nobody stopped.
"Stop, or I'll arrest the whole danged lot of ye fer fast drivin'!" roared
Burkett, gathering up reins and whip.
And with that he dashed into the place behind Enos Jackson and
crowded the bicyclists to the side of the road.
Our county town is a small one, and at the pace set by Maud it didn't
take us long to reach the far side and sweep out on the highway which
leads, eventually, to Boston.
I began to wonder dimly whether Maud's wind and my water and
gasolene would carry us to the Hub, and, if so, what would happen
when we had passed through the city.
Just beyond Boston, you know, is the Atlantic Ocean.
At this point in my meditations we started down the slope to the big
creamery.
The building is located to the right of the road. On the left, a rather
steep grassy embankment drops perhaps thirty feet to the little river.
On this beautiful sunny afternoon, the creamery's milk cans, something
like a hundred in number, were airing by the roadside, just on the edge
of the embankment; and as we thundered down I smiled grimly to think
of