112 



THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



pail in a splint on top of a post, I peered cautiously 

 over a very wise thing to do before you jump a 

 high board-fence. There, crossing the open square 

 toward the station, was a big, burly fellow with a 

 club looking for me ! 



" I flattened for a moment, when some one in the 

 freight-yard yelled at me. I preferred the policeman, 

 and, grabbing my pail, I slid softly over to the street. 

 The policeman moved on past the corner of the sta-,, 

 tion out of sight. The square was free, and yonder I 

 stood a cab. 



" Time was flying now. Here was the last lap. 

 The cabman saw me coming, and squared away. I / 

 waved a dollar-bill at him, but he only stared the/ 

 more. A dollar can cover a good deal, but I was tooj 

 much for one dollar. I pulled out another, thrust''' 

 them both at him, and dodged into the cab, calling, , 

 * Cambridge ! ' 



" He would have taken me straight to the police- 5 

 station, had I not said, ' Harvard College. Professor r 

 Agassiz's house ! I've got eggs for Agassiz,' push- c , 

 ing another dollar up at him through the hole. 



" It was nearly half past six. 



" ' Let him go ! ' I ordered. ' Here 's another dol- 

 lar if you make Agassiz's house in twenty minutes. 1 

 Let him out ; never mind the police! ' 



" He evidently knew the police, or there were .' 

 none around at that time on a Sunday morning. We 

 went down the sleeping streets, as I had gone down the 





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