She was conscious of a glow of benevolence toward her
species, not excluding even the young couple she had almost reduced to
mincemeat in the neighbourhood of Ninety-Seventh Street. They had
annoyed her extremely at the time of their meeting by occupying till
the last possible moment a part of the road which she wanted herself.
On reaching Sixty-First Street she found her way blocked by a lumbering
delivery wagon. She followed it slowly for a while; then, growing tired
of being merely a unit in a procession, tugged at the steering-wheel,
and turned to the right.
George Pennicut, his anxious eyes raking the middle distance--as
usual, in the wrong direction--had just stepped off the kerb. He
received the automobile in the small of the back, uttered a yell of
surprise and dismay, performed a few improvised Texas Tommy steps, and
fell in a heap.
In a situation which might have stimulated another to fervid speech,
George Pennicut contented himself with saying "Goo!" He was a man of
few words.
Mrs. Porter stopped the car. From all points of the compass citizens
began to assemble, many swallowing their chewing-gum in their
excitement. One, a devout believer in the inscrutable ways of
Providence, told a friend as he ran that only two minutes before he had
almost robbed himself of this spectacle by going into a moving-picture
palace.
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