"It can't be mended," said Mr. Jones. "You'll have to get a new wheel."
"What'll it cost?" said Mr. Huxter, with something very like a groan.
"I can't say exactly. Maybe twenty-five dollars will do it."
"It might have been worse," said the bystander, in what was meant to be an encouraging tone.
"It's bad enough," said Mr. Huxter, fiercely. "It's just my cursed luck."
"Was the carriage yours?" asked the landlord.
"No, I got it from a stable. They'll charge me about double price."
"Oh, by the way, did you catch the boy?" asked the landlord, in a tone of interest.
"No," said Mr. Huxter, with an oath which I will omit. "I had just overtaken him when the cursed horse ran away."
"Well, you are unlucky," said Jones. "What are you going to do about it?"