THREE DOLLARS' FINE
FOR DRIVING FASTER THAN A WALK

"As I was jest sayin'," he muttered, as the noise of the wheels died
away, "I should like to see that man--and I reckon as how I have."

He sat down under the woodbine that wreathed the little porch and
slowly filled his pipe, his gaze still on the bridge opening. As he
crooked his leg and dragged the match across the faded blue of his
trousers he growled:

"I dunno who he is, nor where he's come from, nor where he's goin'
to, nor when he expects to get back, but, as near as I can figger
it, he owes me ten cents' toll and three dollars' fine-money, makin'
a total of three ten, to be charged and collected, as I understand
it."

When he had got his pipe to going, after some little gruntings, he
pulled out a note-book and a stubby pencil and marked down the figures.
At the head of the page he scrawled:

"Old Hurrycain, Dr."

"That name 'll have to do till I git a better one," he mused, and
then stood up to receive toll from a farmer who drove slowly out from
the bridge, his elbows on his knees, his horse walking slouchily.

"If it ain't no great output to you, mister, to tell, do you happen
to know who was the nub of that streak of wind and cuss-words that