Briggs by both arms, and flung her back to the sidewalk. That left
me where she had been, and the car caught me up and slammed me head
first against a telegraph pole. The pole was hard, and if any one
counted me out I did not stay awake to hear him. When I came to I
was conscious that I was lying on a sidewalk; but to open my eyes,
I was much too tired. A voice was saying, "Do you know who he is,
Miss?"

The voice that replied was the voice of the lovely Miss Briggs. But
now I hardly recognized it. It was full of distress, of tenderness
and pity.

"No, I don't know him," it stammered. "He's a salesman--he was in
the store this morning--he's selling motor-cars." The first voice
laughed.

"Motor-cars!" he exclaimed. "That's why he ain't scared of 'em. He
certainly saved you from that one! I seen him, Miss Briggs, and he
most certainly saved your life!"

In response to this astonishing statement I was delighted to hear
a well-trained male chorus exclaim in assent.

The voices differed; some spoke in the accents of Harvard, pure and
undefiled, some in a "down East" dialect, others suggested Italian
peanut venders and Portuguese sailors, but all agreed that the life
of Miss Briggs had been saved by myself. I had intended coming to,
but on hearing the chorus working so harmoniously I decided I had
better continue unconscious.