Nobody stopped.

"Stop, or I'll arrest the whole danged lot of ye fer fast drivin'!"
roared Burkett, gathering up reins and whip.

And with that he dashed into the place behind Enos Jackson and crowded
the bicyclists to the side of the road.

Our county town is a small one, and at the pace set by Maud it didn't
take us long to reach the far side and sweep out on the highway which
leads, eventually, to Boston.

I began to wonder dimly whether Maud's wind and my water and gasolene
would carry us to the Hub, and, if so, what would happen when we had
passed through the city.

Just beyond Boston, you know, is the Atlantic Ocean.

At this point in my meditations we started down the slope to the big
creamery.

The building is located to the right of the road. On the left, a rather
steep grassy embankment drops perhaps thirty feet to the little river.

On this beautiful sunny afternoon, the creamery's milk cans, something
like a hundred in number, were airing by the roadside, just on the edge
of the embankment; and as we thundered down I smiled grimly to think of
the attractive little frill Maud might add to her performance by kicking
a dozen or two of the milk cans into the river as she passed.