Mr. Abner Holden—for this was the stranger's name—next turned his attention to the buggy, which had been damaged to some extent, and so was likely to involve him in expense. This was another uncomfortable reflection. Meanwhile, as it was no longer in a fit state for travel, he must contrive some way to have it carried back to the stable, and, unless he could procure another vehicle, perform the rest of the journey on foot.
Luckily, some men in a neighboring field had witnessed the collision, and, supposing their services might be required, were now present to lend their aid.
“Pretty bad accident,” remarked one of them. “That 'ere wheel'll need considerable tinkering afore it's fit for use. How came you to get it broke so, squire?”
“A little rascal had the impudence to dispute the road with me, and would not turn out at my bidding,” said Mr. Holden, in a tone of exasperation, which showed that his temper had been considerably soured by the accident.
“Wouldn't turn out? Seems to me from the marks of the wheels, you must have been drivin' along in the middle of the road. I guess you didn't take the trouble to turn out, yourself.”
“Well, there was room enough for the boy to turn out one side,” said Holden, doggedly.
“You are slightly mistaken, stranger,” said the other, who was disgusted at the traveler's unreasonableness. “There wasn't room; as anyone can see that's got eyes in his head. Didn't the youngster turn out at all?”
“Yes,” snapped Holden, not relishing the other's free speech.
“Then it seems you were the one that would not turn out. If you had been a leetle more accommodating, this accident couldn't have happened. Fair play's my motto. If a feller meets you halfway, it's all you have a right to expect. I reckon it'll cost you a matter of ten dollars to get that 'ere buggy fixed.”
Holden looked savagely at the broken wheel, but that didn't mend matters. He would have answered the countryman angrily, but, as he stood in need of assistance, this was not good policy.