There were outcries of alarm and amazement, hasty suggestions, orders to Starling Tucker to do many things he was beyond doing; but above them all rose clear-toned, vigorous denunciation from the outraged owner of the late pansy bed, who now issued from the doorway, walked unsupported down the neat steps, and started with firm strides for the offender.

Starling Tucker beheld her approach, and to him, as to others there assembled, it was as if the dead walked.

He climbed swiftly down upon the opposite side of his juggernaut, pushed a silent way through the crowd, and strode rapidly back to town.

Starling's walk had commonly been a loose-jointed swagger, his head up in challenge, as befitted a hero of manifold adventure with wild horses.

He now walked head down with no swagger.
But the crowd ceased to regard him, for now a slight boyish figure--none other than that of Wilbur Cowan--leaped to the seat, performed swift motions, grasped the fateful wheel, and made the bus roar.