“Hi, Mr. Gasaway! That fellow is running away with your magazines!”
“Talk about the tail of a kite—this beats any kite tail I ever saw!”
“TALK ABOUT THE TAIL OF A KITE—THIS BEATS ANY KITE TAIL I EVER SAW!”
Such were some of the cries that rent the air as the stage started away from the depot. On the step, clutching the handrails, was Asa Lemm, and streaming out behind him was the wire, loaded with magazines and picture papers.
“Hi you! Come back here!” roared the stand keeper in bewilderment. “What do you mean by running off with my stuff? Come back, I say!” and, throwing up a flap of the counter, he ran out of his stand and after the auto-stage.
Asa Lemm did not know what to make of the hullaballoo. People were rushing toward the stage from all directions, and many were pointing their fingers at him. He felt a tug in the rear, but could not put his hand back to the button on which the wire was fastened for fear of falling from the stage step.
“Stop that stage! Stop that stage, I tell you!” bawled the newsstand keeper. “He’s running off with my magazines!”
And then the crowd set up a roar of laughter.
“I ain’t got no time to waste. I’m behind time already!” yelled back the auto-stage driver. “What do you want, anyway?”