"Yuh—yuh—girl's got croup—thanks—"
"Yoost keep to the right. You can't miss it." Probably no one who has listened to the dire "you can't miss it" has ever failed to miss it.
Martin swung the Ford about, grazing a slashed chopping block; he rattled up the road, took the corner that side of the schoolhouse instead of this, ran half a mile along a boggy trail between pastures, and stopped at a farmhouse. In the surprising fall of silence, cows were to be heard feeding, and a white horse, startled in the darkness, raised its head to wonder at him. He had to arouse the house with wild squawkings of his horn, and an irate farmer who bellowed, "Who's there? I've got a shotgun!" sent him back to the country road.
It was forty minutes from the time of the telephone call when he rushed into a fur
