"There! Thank goodness that's over!" sighed Estelle. "Now to make speed and get that doctor. I hope the man doesn't die." "I do too," acquiesced Alice. "Did you see how sharply the man looked at us?" "Who, the man that was shot?" "No, the one in the auto. He stared and stared!" "Probably he wondered where in the world we got a horse in these days that was afraid of an auto. I wonder myself where this steed has been in hiding. There are so many cars now that it is a wonder horses aren't using gasoline as perfume." "No, he wasn't looking at the horse," persisted Alice. "He was looking at us. Perhaps he knew you, Estelle." "Why do you say that? I'm sure I never saw him before. Maybe it was you he was staring at." "No, it was you he was staring at, but I don't blame him. You are very striking looking to-day." "It's this dress. Isn't it quaint?" "And pretty! Oh, but we mustn't talk so frivolously when that poor man may be dying. We must drive faster." "Talking isn't going to make the horse go any slower. In fact, I think maybe he'll go quicker to get the trip over with sooner so he can be rid of our chatter. But I don't think the poor man is badly hurt. He may bleed a lot, but they can hold that in check until we get the doctor." They drove on, and were presently in the village. They had been told where Dr. Wherry had gone--to a drugstore to get some medical supplies--and thither they made their way. "Do you notice how every one is staring at us?" asked Alice, as they drove along the streets. "They do seem to be," admitted Estelle, looking for the drugstore. "I guess it's the horse; he is so bony he has many fine points about him, as Russ said. And we're queer looking in these costumes ourselves." When they alighted at the pharmacy and started in, they became aware of the growing sensation they were creating. For a little throng had gathered in front of the store, and more men and boys came running up, to form in two lines--a living lane--through which Alice and Estelle had to pass. "We certainly are creating a sensation," gasped Alice, growing embarrassed. "Look! a regular bridal crowd," said Estelle in a low voice. Though they undeniably presented a pretty picture in their paint, powder, curls and hoopskirts, they were also an unusual one for that little country village. "Look at the society swells!" cried one boy. "Dat's de new fashion--makin' your nose look like a flour barrel!" added another. "Aren't those dresses sweet?" sighed a girl. "They must be the latest New York style," added a companion. "I heard that full skirts were coming in again." "Well, ours are certainly full enough," murmured Alice, looking down at her swaying hoops. And then some one guessed the truth. "They're actresses--the movie actresses!" came the cry, and this attracted more attention than ever, for if there is one person about whom the American public is curious, it is the actor.