“No, sir, you keep out of there. Hi, there! Quit that!”
Teddy Thurston had stolen up behind and was pushing heroically, and Tom and Willard had to dig their heels in the dirt to keep from being run down. Willard chased Teddy to the sidewalk, but in the meantime Jimmy had crawled into the buggy. It took several minutes to dislodge him and by the time he was pulled out four or five other fellows had congregated. Tom and Willard were vastly outnumbered and the buggy completed its journey most spectacularly. Jimmy Lippit and a boy named Converse occupied the seat, two small boys sat in the box behind and the rest helped pull. The buggy crossed Washington Street in defiance of all speed regulations—if there were any in Audelsville—and to the accompaniment of much laughter and shouting. Jimmy held an imaginary pair of reins and cracked an imaginary whip, while Converse clutched him in simulated terror as the vehicle bounded over the car rails.
“Git ap!” shouted Jimmy.
“Save me! Save me!” shrieked Converse. “They’re running away!”
“Faster, you old plugs!” commanded Jimmy, slashing the imaginary whip. “Faster, or I’ll sell the lot of you!”
Down Walnut Street they galloped, the buggy creaking and protesting in every spring and rivet, and drew up with a final flourish in front of the carriage works.
“Whoa!” shouted Jimmy. “Whoa, you ponies! Say, I guess I’m some driver, fellows! Did you see me pull ’em back on their haunches? Mr. Saunders, please unharness my steeds.”
Mr. Saunders, who had emerged from the shop in response to the hubbub, grinned as he directed Tom to take the buggy further along and run it on to the elevator. “You tell your father that if he wants to sell this he’s to let me know. I might find a customer for it. When you going to fetch that automobile away?”
“Connors said he’d send right over for it,” answered Tom.
“He’s coming now, I think,” said Willard, as a team drawn by a pair of dancing, half-broken colts came around the corner.