Shaming the Speed Limit — Context and Discussion

her face, he had made the blunder of mistaking her for a middle-aged woman. He felt his heart thumping queerly. He also felt his face burning beneath her unmasked disdain.

“Let me explain,” he pleaded hastily.

“It isn’t necessary,” she cut him short. “I don’t suppose there are any Reginalds to be found outside the pages of fiction.”

“The Daphnes,” he returned, “are myths.”

She tossed her head. “Besides being a ’fraid cat,” she retorted, “you’re just about the most impolite person I ever met. What were you doing prowling around in this field, anyhow?”

“Being in haste to secure a conveyance to Albion for two gentlemen whose motor has broken down back yonder on the road, I was making a short cut to town and avoiding the most of the hill. The gentlemen must catch the three-forty train at Albion. It is now,” he stated, balancing himself on the limb and taking out his watch, “seven minutes past two.”

“And twenty-three miles to Albion. Your gentlemen will have to hurry.”

“They may make it if I can get an automobile in town.”

Again she laughed. “Automobiles aren’t popular in Greenbush. Peter Beedy is the only citizen who owns one. He’s been arrested and fined four times for exceeding the speed limit of eight miles an hour. The last time that happened he was so mad he swore he’d never start the machine again, and he had it towed to his barn and stored away.”

“Thanks for the information. Me for Peter Beedy.” He glanced downward. Sitting on his haunches and gazing upward with a wistful eye, Shep was licking his old chops. “If you will be good enough to call your dog away and keep a firm, restraining hand upon him, I’ll hit the high spots between here and Mr. Beedy’s domicile.”

“As long as you’re so completely lacking in sand,” said she, “I’ll collar Shep and hold him until you get a fair start. But let me warn you that if you succeed in getting Beedy’s auto you’ll certainly be pinched and fined if you’re caught driving faster than eight miles an hour anywhere within the town limits.”

“It’s always necessary,” was his retort, “first to catch your hare. If Beedy’s bubble has any speed at all, somebody will be handed a laugh. When you give the word, I’ll come down.”

Now it chanced that neither of them had noticed the approach of Libby’s bull, confined in that same pasture. The bull was ugly, and resentful of intrusion on its domain. And just as the girl placed one hand on the dog’s collar the bull charged, with a snort and a bellow. The man on the limb shouted a warning. The girl screamed and dodged behind the tree. The dog, seeing the charging beast by accident, bounded lamely to meet him. And the bull, with one sweep of his horns, tossed the dog fifteen feet into the air.

The man in the tree was paralyzed with horror. The disastrous attempt of the dog to protect his mistress seemed to check the charging bull for barely a fraction of a second. With glaring eyes, the beast came on, dashing straight at the terrified girl.

“The fence!” shouted the man. “Run!”

Even as he uttered the words he realized what would happen if she attempted to obey. The infuriated beast would overtake her, toss her with its horns even as the old dog had been tossed, gore her, trample the life out of her delicate body. For the briefest fraction of time, he was sickened by the thought. Then he dropped from the tree directly in the path of the mad creature. As he dropped, he snatched the cap from his head. The instant his toes touched the turf, he sprang to one side. The bull missed him by a foot, and he struck the animal across the eyes with his cap.

It seemed like a feeble thing to do, but he had time for nothing else, and he hoped desperately to turn the attention of the beast from the girl; hoped somehow, by diverting the creature’s fury to himself, to give her an opportunity to flee to safety beyond the fence.

The girl had circled round the tree, keeping it between herself and the bull. As the man struck the animal, the latter swerved and turned with amazing speed, surprised, perhaps, by the appearance of a second human being on the scene. The stranger waved his arms and shouted challengingly. The animal accepted the challenge promptly and charged at him.

“Oh!” gasped Miss Wiggin. “He’ll be—killed!”