With head up, eyes goggling, nostrils dilating, and mane erect, the
animal stopped short on straddled legs. Then he snorted, whirled, took
the wagon around in a circle on two wheels in spite of the farmer's
endeavors, and made off in the opposite direction, the driver pulling
hard on the reins, hands above his head, elbows akimbo.

"It occurs to me, Friend Chick," said his companion, after the outfit
had disappeared, "that in planning this pilgrimage of yours you have
failed to take everything into account. If that farmer-man and his
wife pile into the ditch and break their necks, then all your general
mediating in other quarters will hardly make up for the damage you have
caused right here."

"The world is full of problems," sighed the man in armor. "There seems
to be a hitch to about everything!"

After a few moments the farmer came pelting into sight on foot.

"What in the name of bald-headed Nicodemus do you call yourself, and
what are you trying to do?" he shouted. "It's only by luck and chance
and because the webbin's held that me and my wife ain't laying stiff and
stark in the ditch."

"I am sorry," said friend Chick with dignity.

"Get a hoss used to bicycles, flying-machines, red whizzers and blue
devils, and then along comes something else that ain't laid down in the
back of the Old Farmer's Almanick! You there, the one that ain't crazy,
what's this thing you're teaming round?" the farmer demanded, addressing