Washington Street she met a hearse,
but not until she had reached the undertaker's establishment was her
suspicion transformed into certainty by being told that her father's
body was already on its way to the crematory.

Mrs. Timmins was a long-headed woman. She knew the uncertainties of cab
transportation through the crowded streets below Canal, and dismissing
her cab at the Chambers Street station of the Third Avenue Elevated, she
was soon speeding on her way to the Long Island City ferry.

This she reached just as a boat was leaving the slip. Misfortune number
one. When she finally reached the Long Island side, she threw herself
into the carriage nearest at hand, crying out:

"To the crematory! Five dollars extra if you get me there in time!"

It was not many minutes before Mrs. Timmins became aware of the fact
that the horse was next to worthless, and could scarcely be lashed into
a respectable trot. Mrs. Timmins was nearly frantic. Every minute her
head was thrust out of the window to urge the hackman to greater speed.
There was but one consoling thought--the hearse itself might get blocked
or might have missed a boat!

As again and again her head was thrust out of the carriage window her
hair became disheveled, for she had removed her hat, and the
superstitious Hibernian on the box was upon the point of abandoning his
post at sight of the wild and crazed look presented by Mrs. Timmins. Was
she not some one's ghost, making this wild and mysterious ride?

But the promise of an extra five dollars kept the man at his post.

Suddenly a cry of joy escaped Mrs. Timmins's lips. The hearse was just
ahead of them; but its driver had the better horses, and half suspecting
that something was wrong, he whipped up vigorously and disappeared in a
cloud of dust. Mrs. Timmins's horse was now as wet as if he had been
dipped into the river, and she expected every minute to see him give
out; but, strange to say, he had warmed up to his work, and now, in
response to the driver's urging, broke into a run.

Again Mrs. Timmins caught a glimpse of the black coach of death in the
dust clouds ahead of her. The race became every instant more exciting.
It was a strange sight, and instinctively the farmers, in their
returning vegetable wagons, drew aside to let them pass. Once more the
hearse disappeared in the dust clouds. This was the last Mrs. Timmins
saw of it until she drew up in front of the crematorium. There it stood,
with its