e. I didn't count for much, while the decision in
regard to the one who stayed rested in the hands of Fate. It was the
manager's own pack of cards I cut. I can recall the look of
sophisticated astonishment those rascals wore at my persistent bad
luck. I found out afterwards that every mother's son of them had
bought his ticket the day before. They had faith in that pack of
cards. Most of the town had gone with them; this accounted for the
deserted village effect. Several days before this I sat up all night
reading H. Rider Haggard's "She." The desire to figure in remarkable
events had not yet worn off, but a more unlikely theatre of adventure
than that Main Street could not be conceived. I looked up and down the
length of it. Hark! What sound is that? 'T is the rattle of wheels,
and the "plunkety-plunk" of a farm-horse's trot. Around the corner
comes an ancient Studebaker waggon drawn by an old horse, and in it two
small boys are seated on a bushel basket--hardly a crisis. I fell to
envying the small boys, for all that. They could go and come as they
pleased; they were their own masters, free to do as they liked in the
world.

As if to show that this was, indeed, the fact, in the broadest meaning
of the words, the two urchins suddenly leaped high in the air, uttering
shrieks; they landed on the ground and scuttled across the park as fast
as legs could carry them. Absolutely no reason for this performance
appeared to the eye. The horse stopped, turning his mild gaze after
them, then swung his head until he saw me, at whom he gazed with that
expression of complete bewilderment always so comical in an equine
face. "Account for that, if you can," he said, as plainly as the
printed words could do it. Finding no solution in me, he shook his
head and blew his nose. He was a kind old horse, always willing to
oblige, but to plan an independent campaign was beyond him, so he stood
just where he was, probably saying, "Great is Allah!" to himself in the
Houyhnhnm tongue, waiting for what was going to happen to get about it.
The plot increased in thickness, for the bushel basket began a
mysterious journey toward the back of the waggon, impelled by an unseen
power. It was a curious thing to see in broad daylight. I felt quite
a prickle down my spine as I watched it. Arriving at the end, over it
went, disclosing the secret. From out of that basket came a small
bear. I swallowed an ejaculation and looked at him