"You know the Tannhäuser overture?" I whispered.

"Yes."

"Listen to it and you'll guess a little how my head sounds."

I put one arm around her and led the horses as best I could with my left hand. We made slow and painful progress down the road. Helen was as plucky as I knew she would be; although each step was agony, not a whimper came from her lips. About half a mile from where we started the light of a farm appeared; we staggered through the little swinging gate, arousing a pack of dogs which made more noise than the Seven Champions of Christendom. With difficulty we restrained Leonidas from going to a noble death in single combat against the lot. It took as heavy knocking as upon the gates of Macbeth's castle to arouse the farmer within, who finally opened the door a distrustful crack and stood surveying us by the light of a glass oil lamp held above his head. He was clad in rubber boots, trousers, and a night shirt; the expression upon his face did not indicate any anxiety to ask us to partake of bread and salt with him.

"Have you a telephone?" I asked. "This lady was thrown from her horse and hurt. I want to get help."

He reflectively turned all this over in his mind, evidently considering the request and its accompanying statement from all conceivable angles. Leonidas tactlessly growled at him and incurred severe reproof from Helen.

"Please let me in," she pleaded. "I want very much to sit down." I was meditating choking consent out of the impassive sour-faced old man. A high-pitched nasal voice called out from the head of the stairs: "Henery, don't you dast to give no tramps anything to eat."

"I'll pay you for your trouble," I said, producing a few bills.

"I reckon I don't have to be paid for no trouble," the old codger snarled. I saw that I had made another error of tact. "What you doing out gallivantin' around this time of night?" he added.

"We are not out from choice," I reminded him. "This lady has had an accident and is seriously hurt. All we ask is to be allowed to stay here until we get help from town."