“Oh, I don't think you could get her in!--You'd better not try!” Missy exulted--he looked as if actually afraid she might attempt it! As a matter of fact Arthur was afraid; he was afraid Missy Merriam had suddenly gone out of her head. There was a queer look in her eyes--she didn't look herself at all. He was afraid she might really do that crazy stunt; and he was afraid the boss might return from lunch any second, and catch her doing it and blame HIM! Yes, Arthur Simpson was afraid; and Missy's blood sang at the spectacle of happy-go-lucky Arthur reduced to manifest anxiety. “CAN'T get her in?” she retorted derisively. “Just watch me!” And, patting Gypsy's glossy neck, she headed her mount directly toward the sidewalk and clattered straight into Pieker's store. Arthur had barely time to jump out of the way. “Holy cats!” he again invoked fervently. Then: “Head her out!--She's slobbering over that bucket of candy!” True enough; Gypsy's inquisitive nose had led her to a bewildering profusion of the sweets she adored; not just meagre little bits, doled out to her stingily bite by bite. And, as if these delectables had been set out for a special and royal feast, Gypsy tasted this corner and sampled that, in gourmandish abandon. “For Pete's sake!” implored Arthur, feverishly tugging at the bridle. “Get her out! The old man's liable to get back any minute!--He won't do a thing to me!” Missy, then, catching some of his perturbation, slapped with the reins, stroked Gypsy's neck, exhorted her with endearments and then with threats. But Gypsy wouldn't budge; she was having, unexpectedly but ecstatically, the time of her career. Missy climbed down; urged and cajoled, joined Arthur in tugging at the bridle. Gypsy only planted her dainty forefeet and continued her repast in a manner not dainty at all. Missy began to feel a little desperate; that former fine frenzy, that divine madness, that magnificent tingle of aplomb and dash, was dwindling away. She was conscious of a crowd collecting in the doorway; there suddenly seemed to be millions of people in the store--rude, pushing, chortling phantoms as in some dreadful nightmare. Hot, prickling waves began to wash over her. They were laughing at her. Spurred by the vulgar guffaws she gave another frantic tug-- Oh, dear heaven! The upper air suddenly thickened with sounds of buzzing conflict--a family of mud-wasps, roused by the excitement, were circling round and round! She saw them in terrified fascination--they were scattering!--zizzing horribly, threateningly as they swooped this way and that! Heavens!--that one brushed her hand. She tried to shrink back--then gave an anguished squeal.