Mr. Huxter was nearly two miles distant from the tavern where he had stopped. His only hope was that the horse would stop or be stopped there. As soon as he recovered his breath, he started for the tavern, therefore. Partly running, partly walking, he at length arrived, tired, heated, and in ill-humor.
Entering the yard, he saw a group of men and boys surrounding the horse and chaise, which had already arrived. Among them was Mr. Jones, the landlord.
"Why, here's the man himself!" exclaimed the landlord, advancing to meet him. "How came your horse to run away? Were you spilled out?"
"No; I tied him to a tree, and he broke loose and ran away. Has he done any harm?" asked Mr. Huxter, nervously.
"He's smashed one of the wheels in running against a post," said a bystander.
"Let me see," said Mr. Huxter, dolefully.
He found that it was as bad as had been told him. The horse made a short turn into the inn-yard, and managed to bring the chaise into collision with a post. The wheel was pretty well shattered.
"Looks bad," said the bystander. "It'll cost something to mend it."