"Oh, Jersey!" laughed the officer. "No wonder! Well, there's your horse, truckman. And now I want your name."
"Can I go, or do I have to appear in court?" asked Sandy Apgar. "I hope I don't, 'caused I'm in a hurry to git back to the farm. I've got a passel of work to do there, with the weather coming on the way it is.
"No, I guess you won't have to go to court," laughed the policeman. "We're much obliged to you."
"And so am I," added the truckman. "I haven't got any money to give you, because business is poor——"
"Oh, that's all right," said Sandy with a generous wave of his hand. "I don't stop runaway horses for a livin'. I farm it."
"If you ever want any carting done," went on the drayman, "you send for me, young feller, and it won't cost you a cent."
"Guess you wouldn't want to do any cartin' as far as Beatonville," laughed Sandy. "Folks out there don't ever move—they jest die and are buried in the same place. And I guess this is my last trip to New York in a long while. I'm jest as much obliged though," and patting the nose of the now quieted horse, he moved off through the thinning crowd. But he was not to escape unnoticed.
Mr. Pertell had learned, by a hasty talk with Russ, that the horse had been stopped just in time to avoid spoiling any of the film. Russ had continued to make the pictures and the first act of the new drama was a success. The other scenes would take place on board the chartered yacht.
So when the manager saw Sandy Apgar, who by his quick work had saved a film from being spoiled, making his way out of the throng, the theatrical man called to him:
"One moment, please. I want to thank you."