Having become suddenly anxious, the chief executive followed him into the store. Hitchens, fretful and none too well pleased with the governor for wasting so much time on Wiggin, left the latter sitting in the car and mounted the store steps. Aware that the accusing eyes of his fellow townsmen were upon him, Nathan Wiggin gave his attention to the mechanism of the car as displayed before him. He examined the levers and pedals, squinted at the clock and the speedometer and the gasoline gauge. He wondered at the numerous contrivances of push buttons and small levers on the dash. He even bent forward and curiously moved one of the latter from one side to the other. About that time a bold urchin who had climbed on the running board released the emergency brake. It was a cry of warning from somebody in the crowd that made Judge Wiggin aware that the car was moving. It had been standing on a gentle incline, with its nose pointing down the long main street, and had started as soon as the brake was set free. “Hey!” shouted an excited voice. “She’s goin’! Jump, jedge!” Nathan Wiggin did not jump. He was not greatly alarmed at first. The thing had barely started; it was not running away. He had broken and trained vicious horses that other men could do nothing with, some of them veritable man-killers, and surely he could stop an inanimate contrivance like a motor car, especially when it was not under power. Possibly he was restrained also by a conviction that he could not abandon the car with dignity, and by the knowledge that to abandon it at all under such circumstances would possibly make him an object of ridicule. He knew with what keen gusto the Greenbushers “harped on a joke” and nagged the victim thereof. “Whoa!” said the judge, moving quickly over into the driver’s seat and grasping the wheel. “Whoa back!” The car moved on, those persons who had been in front of it hastily scrambling out of the way. The judge braced hard with one foot against the clutch pedal, but that did not seem to have any effect. He grabbed one of the levers, thinking it might be the brake, and gave it a yank. It was the lever that manipulated the gears. At the same time his foot slipped off the clutch pedal. Thrown into gear, the moving car cranked itself, and the engine leaped to life with a sudden vibrating hum. For in shifting the tiny lever on the dash Judge Wiggin had made connections with the magneto. The surprised man gasped as the machine gave a sudden forward lunge, like a horse beneath the stinging cut of a whip. Almost before he could gasp twice, the confounded thing was running away. “Whoa!” shouted the dismayed man commandingly, surging back on the wheel with all his strength. “If the bit holds, I’ll break your jaw, you——”