A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR.


In the uncertainty of that terrible moment everything turned black before
Billie's eyes.

"I am a murderer," was all she could think. "I've killed a little child."

When the mists had cleared away she saw a weird scene about her: hundreds
of Japanese men and women, speaking in low angry voices which somehow
reminded her of the breaking of the surf on the beach--perhaps because
the Japanese language has a sing-song rhythm. The little boy, apparently
limp and lifeless, lay in his sister's arms. Komatsu had leapt clear over
the front of the car and pushed his way through the people gathered about
them. With a hand as skillful as a doctor's he felt the child's pulse and
placed his ear over his heart.

"Baby only make believe dead," he said. "Honorable heart beating all same
like steam engine."

At these hopeful words Miss Campbell came to herself with a start. For a
moment she had been faint and sick with the notion of what had happened.
Never before in all their thousands of miles of touring in the "Comet"
had they injured so much as a fly; and now to run down a little child! It
was too dreadful to contemplate.

"Komatsu," she ordered, in an unsteady voice, "tell the girl to get in
and we will take her brother to the nearest doctor."