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Here his laughter became a series of concussions decidedly menacing to his well-being. “O, Mar, won’t the heathens’ faces shine, too!” exclaimed Betty, joyously, as the coins slipped into her box with an opulent clatter. Billy suspected his mother was waiting for him; he must hurry, he thought. Yet he couldn’t resist showing off a bit. He bent over his wheel, went by the girls with a rush and a “Hello!” made a neat turn, wheeled a figure “8” around a team or two, shouted, “Don’t frame up anything there!” as he passed a second time, and whizzed through the arch in his own high hedge with one wheel in the air..
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Conrad
St. Elmo cast about in his mind for some plausible explanation of his recent panic. It would never do to inform the world that he had been afraid of a mere turkey. May Nell sat still and smiled modestly. Billy stared at her, feeling still more foolish over his own mistake. “What’s the matter, Kiddie? Gee! Those big girls ought not to leave you alone with that fire; you’ll be cooked before the grub!” he grumbled while he mended the fire and propped the kettle. “Yum, yum! Things a-doin’ here. Makes a feller’s stomach feel like just before Thanksgiving dinner.” But May Nell was not to be comforted, till that evening when she composed a wonderful ode to “The Wreck of the Fair Ellen.”.
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