We hurried to him, anxious to learn whether he had been injured seriously.
Beyond a few scratches, and a tear or so in his garments, he seemed to be all right.
Of course I warmly congratulated him on his abilities as a prize bull-baiter.
He was a little dazed—I guess you would have been, too, after such a warm experience.
"Say, am I awake—was this thing the genuine article or did it only exist in my imagination?" he asked.
I thought of how he rode that all bovine like a Centaur, and hastened to reply:
"Well, if it wasn't real, it's certainly a striking example of a man being carried away by his imagination, that's all."
On the way home after that trip, Hollingsworth was quite gay.
I've often wondered whether it came from his being so well shaken up by the bull, or because he had successfully evaded the snares of that smart real estate agent.