"Oh, no, you needn't be alarmed, we never run off the line here."
"Oh, it's not that I'm afraid of," says I. "I'm afraid you'll run off your blamed little island."
While out for a stroll the other afternoon, I reached the foot of a steep hill just in time to see a fellow with an automobile come skating down faster than he intended.
When he had reached the bottom and the dust had settled, I walked over and asked him if he was hurt.
He said he wasn't, but looked ruefully at his auto.
"This darned thing cost a cool two thousand the other day, but I'd be willing to sell it for fifty now," says he.
I looked it over and it seemed a pretty likely sort of machine and not very much hurt, so I took him up.
He got out of the way mighty quick, and three minutes after he disappeared two mounted policemen came dashing up.
"Ha!" says one of them, "we've got you. Come right along."