Middletown transcript., 1910-03-05
knight Era
nv CLARENCE RICHARD LINDNER

ness thereof; how an automobile,
as deus ex machina, nearly sway !
ed two human destinies, and
the eternal truth that
It is d long lane that has no turn
ing.
Kent was q chivalrous soul OF
those twentieth century knights
who fare forth into the mazes OF q
great city, seeking adventure ana
failing to find it. Ladies in DIS
tress were his forte. He had
never, as yet, encountered the
extraordinary, but he knew that
when the opportunity came ne
would be equal to the occasion.
Nights, before retiring, he would
stand before his long mirror and
draw himself up to the full height
of his five feet three, land look long
and searchingly into his own eyes,
reading there indomitable cour'
age, infinite perseverance At
length, satisfied that here was 9
perfect knight Grant, he would
HE himself to bed and dream OF
sad.eyed Dulcineas awaited sue
cor in beleaguered castles.
lam quixotic, know, he once
told the fellows at the club; but
they, sordid and unromantic
youths, missing altogether the
allusion, looked bored and told
him to take something for it. On
!. such occasions he would smile
sadly and call up the garage to
send his machine around, and,
dismissing the chauffeur, would
take solitary rides into the coun'
try, Eliminating that the days OF
Chivalry were no more.
Kent's automobile was q play
full enthusiastically playful
it was, and utterly unsympathetic
of its pilots romantic disposition.
At the most inauspicious mo-
ments it would take the bit be-
tween its teeth, so to speak,
and would defy all his efforts to
check its headlong course. Atsuch
times Kent could do naught but
cling stubbornly to the steering
wheel and elude certain obstacles
that might tend to divert bis
course toward airy space. On
one of these occasions, even the
steering gear refused to work.
and, as the runaway motor.car
dashed down a sudden decline in
the road; a farm wagon, laden
with cans Of butter.miIk, turned
out Of q side lane. The bucolic
John never knew exactly what
happened. The sudden impact
of the two vehicles gave Kent
impetus, and, shooting high into
the air, he came down head fore
most into a can that had fallen
bottom down and had neglected
to spin. Luckily the force OF
Kent's arrival overturned tn Q
vessel, or this would, perforce,
be the conclusion of our story.
Gulping down the buttermilk
that filed his mouth, and wiping
his eyes with the farmers felt
hat, which lay at his hand, he
turned his attention to its uncon'
scious owner, and managed to re-
vive him by scattering on his
face what little milk remained in
one Of the cans. The farmer OPP
ened his eyes. Kent turned and
fed. That night q truck came
from the town, two miles distant,
and carried away the remains OF
the automobile. Some days later
the farmer received a check in
three figures, signed by George
B. Kent, the railroad man.
But all this is by the way. On
a beautiful afternoon in August,
some Eve weeks after the episode
of the milk wagon, Kent, his ma
chine thoroughly overhauled and
newly painted, Jared forth along
the south shore Of Long Island
The machine had been acting
well Of late; probably it had been
taught It's lesson. He passed
through Patchogue at q good
clip, and, when the police force
attempted TO stop him at tbs
corner Of Main Street and Ocean
Avenue, he turned mOckingly
back at that individual and carol
ed sweetly:
Look here, you blamed fule,
I'm the village constabule.
And you'll spend the evening
In the old calaboose.
Past the Hamptons, he turned
north toward Riverhead snC
Flanders, which section Of tn
country is, in the language o
the guide book, full of duck farms
Down the hill outside Flanders
he threw discretion TO the winds
49, oo~ had yorovnd khorr.uOhly