Anyhow, to be on
the safe side, I yelled "Vite!" a while and then "Doucement" a
while; and then "Doucement" and "Vite!" alternately, and mixed in
a few short, simple Anglo-Saxon cusswords and prayers for dressing.
But nothing I said seemed to have the least effect on that demoniac
scoundrel. Without turning his head he merely shouted back something
unintelligible and threw on more juice.
On and on we tore, slicing against the sidewalk,curving and jibbing,
clattering and careening--now going on two wheels and now on four
--while the lunatic shrieked curses of disappointment at the
pedestrians who scuttled away to safety from our charging onslaughts;
and I held both hands over my mouth to keep my heart from jumping
out into my lap.
I saw, with instantaneous but photographic distinctness, a lady,
with a dog tucked under her arm, who hesitated a moment in our
very path. She was one of the largest ladies I ever saw and the
dog under her arm was certainly the smallest dog I ever saw. You
might say the lady was practically out of dog. I thought we had
her and probably her dog too; but she fell back and was saved by
a matter of half an inch or so. I think, though, we got some of
the buttons off her shirtwaist and the back trimming of her hat.
Then there was a rending, tearing crash as we took a fender off a
machine just emerging from a cross street, but my lunatic never
checked up at all.
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