Two clerks helped him load the wagon, explaining just where he should go in order to shorten the route. Rex listened to them in sort of daze, saying yes, when he hadn’t the slightest idea of what it was all about.
Then he found himself back on the seat again. One of the men was explaining to him about the heavy iron weight, from which ran a strong strap, fastened to the bit of one of the horses.
‘Always throw down that anchor when you stop,’ explained the man. ‘Those horses are high-headed. Don’t depend on the brake. And don’t forget to take it up when you start again.’
Rex nodded absently and tightened the lines. He drove away from the store and the horses broke into a trot. It was exhilarating to sit up there and guide a stepping team. As an experiment he leaned back, reached down to pick up an order sheet from one of the boxes, and almost tore a front wheel off against a fire-plug. A policeman swore roundly at him, as he trotted his team around a corner, barely missing another vehicle, but Rex was trying to read the address on that slip of paper.
The horses were going faster now. He slipped the paper under his leg and shortened his grip on the lines. About a block ahead of him was a street car, just slowing to a stop.
Suddenly he heard the jangle of bells, the shrieking of a siren. It was behind him. Quickly he turned his head and looked back. It was the fire department, answering a call, heading down the street toward him.
For a moment he was paralyzed. He had been driving in the middle of the street, and now he forgot whether they were supposed to pass on the right or left-hand side of him. It seemed to him as though he was taking up all of the street, and that unless he did something real quick they would crash into him.
He reached back, picked up his whip, and slashed both horses, swinging heavily on the left line. With a lurch they broke into a running gallop, and the wheels of the wagon, skidding sideways on the car track, almost side-swiped the rear end of the street car.
Across a street intersection they went at a mad gallop, with the wagon doing a juggling act with the grocery orders. For two long blocks the way had been cleared for him, it seemed, but when half way down the next block he saw a heavily loaded truck lurch out through an alley, blocking his way.
He forgot to set back on the lines, forgot to apply the brake. Perhaps it would have availed him little. But one thought flashed through his brain—the anchor. It was the last thing any driver would have thought about—but Rex Morgan was not a driver.