these things as if in a troubled dream, and then, all of a
sudden, me and Emily are all alone in a deserted city. Exceptin' for us
two, there ain't a soul in sight nowheres. Even Windy has mysteriously
vanished. And now Emily, in passing along, happens to look inside a
fruitstore, and through the window her unhappy glance rests upon a bin
full of peanuts. So she just presses her face against the pane like
_Little Mary_ in the po'm, and at that the entire front end of that
establishment seems to give away in a very simultaneous manner, and
Emily reaches in through the orifices and plucks out the contents of
that there store, including stock, fixtures and good will, and throws
'em backward over her shoulder in a petulant and hurried way. But I
takes notice that she throws the bin of peanuts much farther than the
grapefruit or the pineapples or the glass show-cases containing the
stick candy. The proprietor must of been down in the cellar at the
moment, else I judge she'd of fetched him forth too.

"Thus we continues on our way, me and Emily, in the midst of a vast but
boisterous solitude,--for while we can't see the inhabitants, we can
hear 'em,--until we arrive at the foot of Main Street, and there we
beholds the railroad freight-depot looming before us. I can tell that
Emily is wishful to pass through this structure. There ain't no opening
on the nigh side of it, but that don't hinder Emily none. She gives one
heave with her shoulders and makes a door and passes on in and out again
on the far side by the same methods. I arrives around the end of the
shed just in time to see her slide down a steep grade through somebody's
truck-garden and sink down upon her heaving flank in a little hollow. As
I halts upon the brow of the hill, she looks up at me very reproachful,
and I can see that her prevalent complexion is beginning to turn awful
wan and pale. Son, take it from me, when a full-grown she-bull gets wan,
she's probably the wannest thing there is in the world.

"'Stand back, Scandalous,' she moans to me in bull-language. 'I don't
bear you no grudge,--it was a mistake in judgment on the part of all of
us,--but stand back and give me room. Up till this time,' she says,
'I've been po'rly, but something seems to tell me that now I'm about to
be what you might call real indisposed.'

"Which she certainly was.

"So, after a while, a part of the police force come along, stepping slow
and cautious, and they halts themselves