The Hope pioneer. [volume] (Hope, N.D.) 1882-1964, 1919-11-27

mo. / haven't anything to offer him.
II suppose not" Kinney returned
t%houghtfully, as he went or. Il dom
know that 1 would myself. Well, vel
probably e his name in the paper:
some day if he stays with that job!"
80. However, the nitro-glycerir
expert of whom they spoke did not ge,
into the papers as a consequence OF
being blown up, although his daily life
was certainly Il continuous exposure tt
that risk. Destiny has a constant pas
sion for the homogeneous, and it was
Georges lot to manipulate wholesale
quantities of terrific and volatile ex
plosives in safety. and to be laid low
by an accident so commonplace and in
consequent that it was Il comedy
Fate had reserved for him the final in
suit of riding him down under the
wheels of n of those juggernauts at
which he had once shouted "Git q
hoss!" Nevertheless, Fate's ironic
choice for Georgie's undoing was not a
big and swift and momentous car, such
as Eugene manufactured; it a a spe-
cimen of the hustling little type that
was. flooding the country, the cheapest,
commonest, hardest little car ever
made.
The accident took place upon a Sun
day morning. on a downtown crossing,
with the streets almost empty, and no
reason in the world for such q thing
to happen. He had gone out for his
Sunday morning walk, and, he was
thinking of an automobile at the very
moment when the little car struck
him; he was thinking of a shiny Ian
daulet and a charming figure stepping
into it. and of the quick gesture of a
white glove toward the chauffeur, mo-
tioning him to go on. George heard 3
Shout, but did not look up, for he could
not imagine anybody's shouting at him,
and he was too engrossed in the ques-
ton "Was it Lucy?" He could not de-
eide, and his lack of decision in this
matter probably superinduced a lack
OF decision in another, more p%ressingly
vital. AT the second and louder shout
he did look up; and the a was almost
on him; but he could not make up his
mind if the charming little figure he
had seen was Lucy's and he could not
max up his mind whether to go back
ward or forward; these questions be-
came enrangled in his mind. Then,
still not being able to decide which OF
two ways to go. he tried to go both
and the little a ran him down. It
was not moving very rapidly, but it
went all the way over George.
He was conscious of gigantic vio-
lence; of roaring and jolting and con-
cussion; of choking clouds of dust,
shot with lightning, about his head;
he heard swapping sounds as loud as
shots from a small pistol, and was
stabbed by e~xcruciating pains in his
legs. Then he became aware that the
machine was being lifted off of him.
People were gathering in a circle
round him, Cabling.
His forehead was believed with the
sweat of anguish, and he tried to wipe
off this dampness, but failed. He could
A1Ol 6ct lIlS arm lIluL LUZ.
"Nev' mind" a policeman said; and
George could see above his eyes the
skirts of the blue coat, covered with
dust and sunshine. "Amb'lance here in
q minute. New mind tryin' to move
any. You want 'em to send for some
special doctor"
"No." Georges lips formed the word.
"Or to take you to some private
h%ospital?"
'Tell them to take me-" he said
family, ito the City hospital"
ga right"
A smallish young man in a buster
fidgeted among the crowd, explaining
and protesting and a strident-voiced
girl, his companion, supported his ar
gument, declaring to everyone her
willingness to offer testimony in any
court Of law that every blessed word
he said was the Gods truth.
"It's the fella that hit you," the po-
liceman said, looking down on George.
II guess he's right; you must Of ben
thinkin' about somep'n' or other. It's
wunnerful the damage them little ma.
chimes a do-you'd never think it
but l guess they amt much a S ag'in
this fella that was drivin' it."
"You bet your life they amt no case
on me-" the young nan in the duste,
agreed, with great bitterness. He came
and stood at Georges feet, addressing
him heatedly: "Tm sorry fer you all
right, and l don't say I amt. I hole
nothin' against you, but it wasn't any
more my fault than the statehouse
Wasn't goin' a step over eight mile.
an hour! I'm perfectly willing to say
I'm sorry for you though, and SOS thu
lady with me. We're both willing tt
say that much, but that's all, under
stand!"
Georges drawn eyelids twitched
his misted glance rested fleetingly up
on the two protesting motorists, a
the old imperious spirit within hin
fickered up in a single word. Lyin'
on his back in the middle of the stree,
where he was regarded by an increa:
ing public as an unpleasant curiosity