rgyman,
of whom all that I distinctly recall is that he had a tassel round his
hat.

"We must take him to the hospital," said I. "No," said an elderly man;
"he'll be dead before you get him there. He's nearly gone already.
Better fetch a doctor."

"Has anybody got a bicycle?" said the clergyman in the slightly
imperious accents of Keble College. "Yes," I replied, "I've got one, and
just the sort of bicycle for this business, too." "You'd better fetch
Ross," said the same voice, speaking once more in the tones which
indicate conscious possession of the Last Word on Everything Whatsoever.
"No," said the old woman, with enough defiance in her manner to frighten
a Pope, "No, Ross's no good. Fetch Conklin." "All right," I said; "if
one of you will show me where Conklin lives, I'll fetch him in a brace
of shakes."

Instantly the whole company, saving only the parson and the old woman,
volunteered. Selecting one who seemed of lighter weight than the rest
(he was a boy), I jumped up, called to my three horses, yoked up the
half-horse (kept in reserve for great occasions), and, letting all loose
at once, drove at top speed in the direction of Conklin's abode.

Then was seen in the streets of that old town such a scurrying and
scattering, both of men and beast, as the world has not beheld since the
most desperate moments of John Gilpin's ride. Back over the bridge,
where Cavaliers and Roundheads once stood at push of pike for fifty
minutes by "the towne clocke"; through the market-place, where the
cheap-jack ceased lying that he might regard us; past the policeman at
the Cross (slower at this point); up the steep gradient of the High
Street; right through a flock of geese (illustrious bird! who not only
warnest great cities of impending ruin, but keepest thyself out of
harm's way better than any four-footed beast of the field), we drove our
headlong course; and, in less time than this paragraph has taken to
write I stood on the doorstep, of the doctor's house. In another minute
I had seen him and told my tale.

The doctor received my gushings with perfect impassivity, and responded
with the merest apology for a grunt. But the repeated allusion to
flowing blood seemed at last to rouse him. He seized a black bag that
stood on the table, thrust in the necessary tackle, and said, "Come
along."

In the race back to the Field of Blood, I had no leisure to analyse the
structure of Conklin's mind. But a few remarks which he shout