Look out, Miss Honey! Take hold of your cousin's hand and
run across together, now, like good girls."
Miss Honey made an obedient snatch at Caroline's apron strings, and
darted forward with a long roll of her skates. The road was clear
for a block. Delia, with a quick glance to left and right, lowered
the perambulator to the road-level and forged ahead. Caroline, nose
in air, studied the nearest policeman curiously.
"Look out, there! _Look out!_"
A man's voice like a pistol shot crashed behind them. Caroline heard
quick steps and a woman's scream, looked up at the huge, blood-red
bulk of an automobile that swooped around the corner and dashed
forward. But Miss Honey's hand was clutching her apron string, and
Miss Honey's weight as she fell, tangled in the skates, dragged her
down. Caroline, toppling, caught in one dizzy backward glance a
vision of a face in the automobile staring down on her, white as
chalk, under a black moustache and staring goggles, and another
face, Delia's, white too, with eyes more strained and terrible than
the goggles themselves. One second that look swept her and Miss
Honey, and then, shifting, fell upon the General strapped securely
into his carriage. Even as Caroline caught her breath, he flew by
her like an arrow, his blue eyes round with surprise under a whirl
of white parasol, the wicker body of the perambulator swaying and
lurching.
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