With one accord they ran toward the prostrate horseman, Calvin ahead and Elsie a close second, holding the hand of little Woodrow.
They were presently able to observe that the fleeing Dexter had narrowly escaped running down a motor car inopportunely turning at that moment into the alley.

The gallant animal swerved in time, leaving the car's driver and his wife aghast at their slight margin of safety.

Dexter vanished to the right up shaded Spruce Street on a Sabbath evening as the first call to evening worship pealed from a neighbouring church tower.
His late rider had erected himself and was beating dust from the new chaps and the front of the new shirt.

He picked up the ideal hat and dusted that.

Underneath all the flurry of this adventure he was still the artist.