It just missed the dog.
He woke up not a moment too soon. He fled with a yelp of dismay.
And then the caravan careered on a dozen yards further, lost energy and—the only really undignified thing in its whole career—stood on its head in a wide wet ditch. It did this with just the slightest lapse into emphasis. There! It was as if it gave a grunt—and perhaps there was the faintest suggestion of William in that grunt—and then it became quite still....
For a time the caravan seemed finished and done. Its steps hung from its upper end like the tongue of a tired dog. Except for a few minute noises as though it was scratching itself inside, it was as inanimate as death itself.
But up the hill road the twins were weeping, the hawker and the ditcher were saying raucous things, the hawker’s pony had backed into the ditch and was taking ill-advised steps, for which it was afterwards to be sorry, amidst his stock-in-trade, and Professor Bowles, Mrs. Bowles, Mr. Geedge, Captain Douglas and Mrs. Geedge were running—running—one heard the various patter of their feet.
And then came signs of life at the upward door of the caravan, a hand, an arm, an active investigating leg seeking a hold, a large nose, a small intent vicious eye; in fact—William.
William maddened.
Professor Bowles had reached the caravan. With a startling agility he clambered up by the wheels and step and confronted the unfortunate driver. It was an occasion for mutual sympathy rather than anger, but the Professor was hasty, efficient and unsympathetic with the lower classes, and William’s was an ill-regulated temperament.
“You consummate ass!” began Professor Bowles....
When William heard Professor Bowles say this, incontinently he smote him in the face, and when Professor Bowles was smitten in the face he grappled instantly and very bravely and resolutely with William.