by the side of the road.

"Whoa!" commanded Phil, at the same time jumping on the can to
keep it from following in the wake of Teddy.

"Go on!" howled Teddy, partially righting himself.

The driver urged his horses on and the team sprang away with
loud snorts. But the rival wagon had taken a fresh start,
and was drawing up on the Sparling outfit, the rear team,
with lowered heads, appearing to be running away.

These horses struck the crosswalk with a mighty crash. The rear
wheels slewed. The big can of paste was catapulted over a fence,
narrowly missing Teddy Tucker's head as it shot over him.
He flattened himself on the ground, but was up like a flash,
sprinting out of harm's way.

There was reason for his last action. Other things were coming
his way. As the wheels of the rival wagon slewed, they struck
a gutter.

The wagon turned turtle, and men, paste brushes, paper and all
were scattered all over the place.

"Oh, that's too bad!" muttered Phil. "But we can do nothing
for them if we stop. There are plenty back there to
lend assistance."

His tender heart told him to go back, whether he could be of