The Prescott daily news., 1912-04-01
CHAPTER l,
The Wreck of the Taxicab.

street, clung to the arm of the young man alongside, as if she were terri fed at the lawbreaking, neck-risking speed. But evidently some greater fear goaded her, for she gasped:
 Cant he go a little faster?"
 Cant you go little faster?' The young man alongside howled as he thrust his head and shoulders through the window in the door
 But the self-created taXi-gale swept his voice aft, and the taut chauffeur perked his ear in vain to catch the vanishing syllables.
 Whats that?" he roared.
 Cant you go little faster?'
 The indignant charioteer simply had to shoot one barbed glare of re proach into that passenger He turned his head and growled:
 Say, do youse want to lose me me license?"
 For just one instant he turned his head. One instant was just enough. The unguarded taxicab seized the op- portunity. bolted from the track, and flung, as it were, it's arms drunkenly around a perfectly respectable lamp post attending strictly to it's business on the curb. There ensued a con- densed Fourth of July. Sparks flew, tires exploded, metals ripped, two wheels spun in air and one wheel, neatly severed at the axle, went reel ing down the sidewalk half block before it leaned against a tree and rested
 A dozen or more miracles coincided to save the passengers from injury The young man found himself stand ing on the pavement with the un- hinged door still around his neck. The young womans arms were round his neck Her head was on his shoulder It had reposed there often enough, but never before in the street under a lamppost The chauffeur found him self in the road, walking about on all fours, like a bewildered Quadruped.
 Evidently some overpowering need for speed possessed the young wom an, for even now she did not scream, she did not faint, she did not mur- mur, Where am I?" She simply said:
 What time is 1t, honey?"
 And the young man, not realizing how befuddled he really was, or how his hand trembled. fetched out his watch and held it under the glow of the lamppost, which was now bent over in a convenient but disreputable attitude.
 "A quarter to ten. sweetheart. Plenty of time for the train"
 But the minister, honey! What about the minister?'
 The consideration of this riddle was interrupted by a muffled hubbub Of yelps, whimpers and canine mysteries. Immediately the young woman forgot ministers, collisions, train-schedules- everything. She showed her first sign of panic
 "Snoozleums! Get SnoOzleums!"
 They groped about in the topsy- turvy taxicab rummaged among a tumble of suitcases, handbags, um- brellas and minor impedimenta, and fished out a small dog-basket with an inverted dog inside Snoozleums was ridiculous in any position, but as he slid tail foremost from the wicker basket, he resembled nothing so much as a heap of tangled yarn tumbling out of a work-basket. He was an in dignant skein, and had much to say before he consented to snuggle under his mistress chin.
 About this time the chauffeur came prowling into view. He was too deep ly shocked to emit any language of the garage He was too deeply shocked to achieve any comment more brilliant than:
 That mess don't look much like 1t ever was a taxicab, does it?'
 The young man shrugged his shoul- ders. and stared up and down the long street for another. The young woman looked sorrowfully at the wreck, and queried
 Do you think you can make it go?'
 The chauffeur glanced her way, more in pity for her whole sex than in scorn for this one type, as he mum bled:
 Make it go? It'll take a steam winch a week to unwrap it from that lamppost.'
 The young man apologized.
 ''I oughtn't to have yelled at you.
 He was evidently very nice young man. Not to be outdone in courtesy, the chauffeur retOrted: