anchor; or, more often, of the tall pile drivers whose hammers went
steadily up and down.

Sherwood guided his glossy team and light spidery vehicle with the greatest
delicacy and skill. He was wholly absorbed in his task. Suddenly up ahead a
wild turmoil broke out. People crowded to right and left, clambering,
shouting, screaming. A runaway horse hitched to a light buggy came
careering down the way.

A collision seemed inevitable. Sherwood turned his horses' heads directly
at an open shop front. They hesitated, their small pointed ears working
nervously. Sherwood spoke to them. They moved forward, quivering, picking
their way daintily. Sherwood spoke again. They stopped. The runaway hurtled
by, missing the tail of the buggy by two feet. A moment later a grand crash
marked the end of its career farther down the line. Again Sherwood spoke to
his horses, and exerted the slightest pressure on the reins. Daintily,
slowly, their ears twitching back and forth, their fine eyes rolling, they
backed out of the opening.

Throughout all this exciting little incident the woman had not altered her
pose nor the expression of her face. Her head high, her eye ruminative, she
had looked on it all as one quite detached from possible consequences. The
little parasol did not change its angle. Only, quite deliberately, she had
relinquished the ribbon by which she held on her hat, and had placed her
slender hand steadyingly on the side of the vehicle.

The bystanders, already leaping down from their places of refuge and again
crowding the narrow way, directed admiring eyes toward the beautiful,
nervous, docile horses, the calm and dominating man, and the poised, dainty
creature at his side. One drunken individual cheered her personally. At