"Huah! It's worse than a cranky horse!"
Bruce Browning reached down, took Danny Griswold by the collar, and
placed the little fellow behind him.
"Unselfishly trying to save your bacon at the expense of my own!"
Browning suavely explained, as Danny began to fume. "Do you want that
thing to step on you?"
An electric hansom, which had sailed up the street in an eminently
respectable manner, had suddenly and without apparent reason begun to
act in an altogether disreputable way. It had veered round, rushed over
the crossing, and made a bee-line for the sidewalk, almost running down
a party of Frank Merriwell's friends, who were out for an afternoon
stroll on the street in the pleasant spring sunshine.
The motorman, who occupied a grand-stand seat in the rear, seemed to
have lost control of the automobile. He was excitedly fumbling with his
levers, but without being able to bring the carriage to a stop.
The street was crowded with people at the time, and when the electric
carriage began to cut its eccentric capers there was a rush for places
of safety, while the air was filled with excited cries and exclamations.
Merriwell could see the head of a passenger, a man, through the window
of the automobile.
"She's cuc-coming this way again!" shouted Gamp.
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