“You’re a winner, Bev!” Then the others surrounded them, the two coaches really concerned lest the young lady had suffered some mishap, and Mr. Cushman brushing the boys aside as he asked:
“Are you faint? Can we be of any assistance?” and Mr. Ford, the new instructor from Yale and mighty good to look upon (so decided Beverly in the space of one glance) pressed to her side to ask: “Were you riding alone when your mount bolted?”
Before Beverly could draw breath to reply the answer came from another quarter.
Now there is no such accomplished actor, (or liar) upon the face of the round world as your genuine darkey. Indeed he can do both so perfectly that he actually lives in the characters he temporarily creates and believes his own prevarications, and that, it must be admitted, is some achievement.
When Beverly departed so suddenly upon her self-elected route, Jefferson naturally had but a very hazy idea of her intentions. He knew Kilton Hall lay over five miles straight ahead, and he knew, also that Beverly’s brother was at school there, but Jefferson did not possess an analytical mind: It could not out-run Apache. He knew, however, that he must put up a pretty good bluff if he wished to save his kinky scalp upon his return to Leslie Manor, so he set about planning to “hand out dat fool ’oman a corker.” Moreover, Petty was inclined to take the situation seriously. Petty was sweetly romantic, but stupidly literal. At times a hopeless combination. The riding party had cantered along in the fleeing Beverly’s wake for a little more than a mile when Petty spied the hat upon the bush. Nothing further was needed to confirm her misgivings.
“She has been run away with, girls! She has! I think it’s perfectly awful not to ride faster. She may be lying on the road d-e-a-d-!”
By this time Jefferson thought it might be politic to manifest more concern, so throwing a well-assimilated anxiety into voice and manner he said hastily:
“Now you fo’ yo’ng ladies jist come ’long careful an’ orderly, so’s not ter bring no mo’ trebbulations, ’pon us an’ I’ll light out fer dat run-way. Ma Lawd, I’se been clar distracted fer de las’ ten minutes fer ter know which-a-way ter tu’n! I aint really believe Miss Bev’ly is in no danger ’twell Miss Petty done got me so sympathizin’, but now I’se shore rattled an’ I’se gwin’ ter find out fer sartin. Come on yo’ Jumbo! Wo’k yo’ laigs fer fair,” and under touch of the spur the big horse broke into a gait which bade fair to speedily overhand the scapegraces, providing Jefferson let him do so.
A turn in the road simplified the problem.
“Now don’ yo’ tak ter sweatin’ yo’self so’s I has ter spend a hull hour a-coolin’ yo’ down,” admonished Jefferson when well out of sight. “We’ll git there, an’ when we does we’ll mak’ one fair show down,” and thereupon Jefferson restrained his steed to a long swinging run which told off the miles without making him turn a hair until Kilton Hall was in sight. Then the dusky actor and his mount prepared to make their spectacular entré. Pulling up at the roadside Jefferson threw his cap upon the ground, twisted his tie awry, and let fly the belt of his riding blouse, then dismounting, he caught up a few handfuls of dust and promptly transformed big bay Jumbo into as disreputable looking a horse as dust rubbed upon his muzzle, his chest and his warm moist flanks could transform him. It was this likely pair which came pounding across the athletic field of Kilton Hall at the moment of Mr. Ford’s question, the human of the species, with eyes rolling until they were nearly all whites, shouting as he drew near: