"Get there, Eli," and the like.
But what cared the drivers? If the shouts were insolent they laid them to envy, and if they were pleasant they smiled in reply.
Albert and Maud had made two easy turns up and down the street when a man driving a span of large Black Hawk horses dashed up a side street and whirled in just before them. The man was a superb driver, and sat with the reins held carelessly but securely in his left hand, guiding the team more by his voice than by the bit.
"Hel-lo!" cried Bert; "that looks like Brann."
"Cracky! that's a fine team—Black Hawks, both of them. I wonder if ol' sorrel can pass 'em?"
"Oh, please don't try!" pleaded the girl.
"Why not?"
"Because—because I'm afraid."
"Afraid of what?"