Not one of them would loosen his grip upon the hose, not one of them
thought to turn the water off. You might have concluded they were
struggling with some primeval force of nature. In forty-five seconds, so
George said, who was timing it, they had swept that circus bare of every
living thing except one dog, who, dripping like a water nymph, rolled
over by the force of water, now on this side, now on that, still
gallantly staggered again and again to its feet to bark defiance at what
it evidently regarded as the powers of hell let loose.

Men and women left their machines upon the ground, and flew into the
woods. From behind every tree of importance peeped out wet, angry heads.

At last, there arrived upon the scene one man of sense. Braving all
things, he crept to the hydrant, where still stood the iron key, and
screwed it down. And then from forty trees began to creep more or less
soaked human beings, each one with something to say.

At first I fell to wondering whether a stretcher or a clothes basket
would be the more useful for the conveyance of Harris's remains back to
the hotel. I consider that George's promptness on that occasion saved
Harris's life. Being dry, and therefore able to run quicker, he was
there before the crowd. Harris was for explaining things, but George cut
him short.

"You get on that," said George, handing him his bicycle, "and go. They
don't know we belong to you, and you may trust us implicitly not to
reveal the secret. We'll hang about behind, and get in their way. Ride
zig-zag in case they shoot."

I wish this book to be a strict record of fact, unmarred by exaggeration,