But as Hiram got some few yards from the hitching rack, the seat was suddenly pulled from under him, and he was left sprawling on his back in the bottom of the wagon.
A yell of derision from the crowd outside the store assured him that this was the cause of the boys' hilarity. Luckily his old horse was of quiet disposition, and he stopped dead in his tracks when the seat flew out of the back of the wagon.
A joke is a joke. No use in showing wrath over this foolish amusement of the crossroads boys. But Hiram got a little the best of them, after all.
The youngsters had scattered when the “accident” occurred. Hiram, getting out to pick up the seat, found the end of a strong hemp line fastened to it. The other end was tied to the hitching rack in front of the store.
Instead of casting off the line from the seat, Hiram walked back to the store and cast that end off.
“At any rate, I'm in a good coil of hemp rope,” he said to one of the men who had come out to see the fun. “The fellow who owns it can come and prove property; but I shall ask a few questions of him.”
There was no more laughter. The young farmer walked back to his wagon, set up the seat again, and drove on.
The roadway was dark, but having been used all his life to country roads at night, Hiram had no difficulty in seeing the path before him. Besides, the old horse knew his way home.
He drove on some eighth of a mile. Suddenly he felt that the wagon was not running true. One of the wheels was yawing. He drew in the old horse; but he was not quick enough.
The nigh forward wheel rolled off the end of the axle, and down came the wagon with a crash!