enough, and I took him up
alongside the fence and got on him. He stopped an instant, one brief
instant, and then tore off down the road at a frightful speed. I lay
down on him and clasped my hands tightly around his neck, and thought of
my home. When we got to the stable I was confident he would stop, but he
didn't. He drove straight at the door. It was a low door, just high
enough to permit him to go in at lightning speed, but there was no room
for me. I saw if I struck that stable the struggle would be a very brief
one. I thought this all over in an instant, and then, spreading put my
arms and legs, emitted a scream, and the next moment I was bounding
about in the filth of that stable-yard. All this passed through my mind
as Stiver's horse went up into the air. It frightened Mrs. Perkins
dreadfully.

"Why, you old fool!" she said; "why don't you get rid of him?"

"How can I?" said I, in desperation.

"Why, there are a thousand ways," said she.

This is just like a woman. How differently a statesman would have
answered!

But I could think of only two ways to dispose of the beast. I could
either swallow him where he stood and then sit down on him, or I could
crawl inside of him and kick him to death.

But I was saved either of these expedients by his coming towards me so
abruptly that I dropped the rope in terror, and then he turned about,
and, kicking me full of mud, shot for the gate, ripping the clothes-line
in two, and went on down the street at a horrible gallop, with two of
Mrs. Perkins' garments, which he hastily snatched from the line,
floating over his neck in a very picturesque manner.

So I was afterwards told. I was too full of mud myself to see the way
into the house.

Stiver got his horse all right, and stays at home to care for him. Mrs.
Perkins has gone to her mother's to recuperate, and I am healing as fast
as possible.

THE CRIMSON CORD[1]

BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER

I had not seen Perkins for six months or so and things were dull. I was
beginning to tire of sitting indolently in my office with nothing to do
but clip coupons from my bonds. Money is good enough, in its way, but it
is not interesting unless it is doing something lively--doubling itself
or getting lost. What I wanted was excitement--an adventure--and I knew
that if I could find Perkins I could have both. A scheme is a business
adventure, and Perkins was the greatest schemer in or out of Chicago.

Just then Perkins wal