ey had
escaped the mob, said, "Son, I don't know these roads as well as you do.
Maybe it'd be better if you took the lines. But whatever you do, keep
going. Mr. Wade says you are to hurry--that is for the first few miles.
You see, he's afraid old Bill will catch cold if he's not kept moving,
and they tell me that it's an awful thing for a horse to catch cold on a
day like this for the want of exercise. Make him hustle!"

CHAPTER VII

And Bill hustled them through the outskirts of the town, and into a road
that was fairly good going, and out to where snowladen fields and snow
weighted trees were on either hand before Jimmy's compassion swayed him
to suggest that after all there was no very great hurry.

"I'm sort of glad of that," commented the boy. "Bill's about winded.
He's my friend, and--and I don't like to see him puffin' like that. I'm
right glad you'd just as soon slow down. I was worried about Bill."

Jimmy thought about Bovolarapus, and then of Bill, and liked that boy.

"To-night," he said, as he settled himself into his seat, "Bill shall
have a box of chocolate caramels for dinner. And--say! son, are you
cold?"

"Not much," said the boy, looking up at him with a grin. "Just a little;
but I keep thinking about that fortune I'm to get and that sort of
keeps me warm."

Jimmy opened his overcoat and gathered his driver inside, and pulled up
the tattered lap robe and said cheerfully, "Sporting life, this, eh?"
But at the same time he was thinking regretfully of his ill-spent
afternoon, and more than ever convinced that jests of a public nature
were not worth while. And yet, in the midst of his personal discomfort,
he did not miss the enjoyment of a chuckle at the thought of what he had
left behind, and that fine harvest which the pompous Judge must reap. In
fact, he began to find a certain pleasure in his adventure; for the snow
stopped, the storm clouds moved restlessly, becoming ever more pallid,
and then the newly risen moon broke through and made all his
surroundings beautiful.

"The only things I miss," he muttered, "are sleigh bells and--Mary
Allen!"

"Mary Allen? Who's she?" The voice of the boy disturbed him.

"Mary Allen," said Jimmy grimly, "is a girl who isn't crazy to vote. She
likes horses. Probably she couldn't throw a brick. I've an idea she
never had a vote, and that if she had one she'd sell it as being the
quickest and easiest way to get rid of it. And--I hope to the Lord that