cination anyway, and I guess we had better turn around now and make for the office."
"Very well, sir," George responded, perfectly agreeable, yet with just the proper suggestion of reluctance, and prepared to bring the vehicle about.
But a street car, wheel flanges already setting up their hideous shriek, was just rounding the corner, and this complicated matters. This, however, would give George an opportunity to demonstrate both his skill and the easy control of the car. Puffed with self-confidence, he began to swing the wheels, but . . . there was a milk wagon speeding along behind that street car, piled high with full cans, drawn by two wild horses, with reins held by a fat Swiss who was practically asleep upon the seat. The horses, knowing from long habit whither they were bound, took it upon themselves to dodge around the street car and cut the wrong way to the turn. When George saw them, it was too late.
"Hold on tight," he shouted to Mr. Gilman, and himself braced for a shock. There followed an awful eternity of suspense that lasted perhaps as long as a split second, after which horses, automobile, street car, slumbering Swiss, and bursting cans of foamy milk spontaneously combined in a moving picture of disaster! . . .
Taking account of casualties: the street car
