"Don't you worry about that." "We want to get into some sort of shape," cried Eph.
"Shape, hell!" said Hartley Bowlder.
There was a hiss and clang and rattle behind him, and a steam whistle shrieked.

The crowd divided, and Hartley's sorrel jumped just in time as the westbound accommodation rushed through on its way to Rouen.

From the rear platform leaned the sheriff, Horner, waving his hands frantically as he flew by, but no one understood--or cared--what he said, or, in the general excitement, even wondered why he was leaving the scene of his duty at such a time.

When the train had dwindled to a dot and disappeared, and the noise of its rush grew faint, the court-house bell was heard ringing, and the mob was piling pell-mell into the village to form on the Square.

The judge stood alone on the embankment.
"That settles it," he said aloud, gloomily, watching the last figures.
He took off his hat and pushed back the thick, white hair from his forehead.