That day, although unerved from anxiety, I took the Arab out alone, having only Jane with me. Except that once I got into reverce instead of low geer, and broke a lamp on a Gentleman behind, I had little or no trouble, although having one or to narrow escapes, owing to putting my foot on the gas throttle instead of the brake.
It was when being backed off the payment by to Policemen and a man from a milk wagon, after one of the aforsaid mistakes, that I first saw he who was to bring such wrechedness to me.
Jane had got out to see how much milk we had spilt—we had struck the milk wagon—and I was getting out my check book, because the man was very nasty and insisted on having my name, when I first saw him. He had stopped and was looking at the gutter, which was full of milk. Then he looked at me.
“How much damages does he want?” he said in a respectful tone.
“Twenty dollars,” I replied, not considering it flirting to merely reply in this manner.
The Stranger then walked over to the milkman and said:
“A very little spilt milk goes a long way. Five dollars is plenty for that and you know it.”
“How about me getting a stitch in my chin, and having to pay for that?”
I beleive I have not said that the milk man was cut in the chin by a piece of a bottle.
“Ten, then,” said my friend in need.