Jim wound up his lasso, mounted the butcher's horse and rode slowly
down the street.
Loud screams came from the corner, where a great crowd of people
quickly assembled. From his seat on the horse Jim saw Miss Scrapple,
attired in the policeman's uniform, angrily shaking her fists in
Mulligan's face, while the officer was furiously stamping upon the
lady's hat, which he had torn from his own head amidst the jeers of
the crowd.
As he rode past the schoolhouse he heard a tremendous chorus of
yells, and knew Prof. Sharpe was having a hard time to quell the
riot caused by the sign on the blackboard.
Through the window of the barber shop he saw the "mean man"
frantically belaboring the barber with a hair brush, while his hair
stood up stiff as bayonets in all directions. And the grocer ran out
of his door and yelled "Fire!" while his shoes left a track of
molasses wherever he stepped.
Jim's heart was filled with joy. He was fairly reveling in the
excitement he had caused when some one caught his leg and pulled him
from the horse.
"What're ye doin' hear, ye rascal?" cried the butcher, angrily;
"didn't ye promise to put that beast inter Plympton's pasture? An'
now I find ye ridin' the poor nag around like a gentleman o'
leisure!"
"That's a fact," said Jim, with surprise; "I clean forgot about the
horse!"
* * * * *
This story should teach us the supreme importance of Time and the
folly of trying to stop it.
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