They got up, dusting their frocks. They had taken it for granted. It was all right. There was not a squawk, not even from the baby, as one of them picked it up and I grabbed the bits and straightened out the old mare.
"I hope you ladies aren't hurt," said my friend from the roadside, in his machine.
"Sally, is you hurt?" asked the fattest one.
"Naw," she grunted.
"Mamie, is you?"
Mamie merely wiggled.
"Is Tootsy hurt?"
Tootsy was eating an apple, with unblinking eyes fixed on the wonderful machine.
Nothing was hurt but the harness.
That was hurt before they started, but I had to spend the next twenty minutes patching it up. Finally we got them all in, Tootsy on top. No word had they spoken, but I could see they were eyeing me, with that country suspicion that makes every maid of them rate every man she meets in the road as Lothario, Jr., or a prince in disguise.