Cap'n Sproul took three defiant steps into the middle of the road, and then took one big step back--a stride that made his "rheumatiz speak up," but a stride that carried him safely to his platform. The team roared past. The big whip swished over his head, and the snapper barked in his ear. He got one fleeting glimpse at the man who was driving--a man with a face as hard as a pine knot. His lips were rolled away from his yellow teeth in a grimace that was partly a grin, partly a sneer. A queer, tall, pointed cap with a knob on its top was perched on his head like a candle-snuffer on a taper. With a shrill yell and more crackings of his whip he disappeared into the gloomy mouth of the covered bridge, and the roaring echoes followed him. The skipper stood looking first at the mouth of the bridge and then at the sign above it that warned: THREE DOLLARS' FINE FOR DRIVING FASTER THAN A WALK "As I was jest sayin'," he muttered, as the noise of the wheels died away, "I should like to see that man--and I reckon as how I have." He sat down under the woodbine that wreathed the little porch and slowly filled his pipe, his gaze still on the bridge opening. As he crooked his leg and dragged the match across the faded blue of his trousers he growled: "I dunno who he is, nor where he's come from, nor where he's goin' to, nor when he expects to get back, but, as near as I can figger it, he owes me ten cents' toll and three dollars' fine-money, makin' a total of three ten, to be charged and collected, as I understand it." When he had got his pipe to going, after some little gruntings, he pulled out a note-book and a stubby pencil and marked down the figures. At the head of the page he scrawled: "Old Hurrycain, Dr." "That name 'll have to do till I git a better one," he mused, and then stood up to receive toll from a farmer who drove slowly out from the bridge, his elbows on his knees, his horse walking slouchily. "If it ain't no great output to you, mister, to tell, do you happen to know who was the nub of that streak of wind and cuss-words that jest went past here?" The farmer bored him strangely a moment with his little gimlet eyes, snorted out a laugh, clapped his reins, and started on. "I heard ye was a joker!" he shouted back, his beard trailing over his shoulder as he turned his head. "There ain't no joke to this!" roared the skipper. But the man kept on. Another patron emerged from the bridge, digging from his trousers pocket. "You spoke it, didn't ye?" demanded the skipper. "Chain lightnin' on wheels. Who is he?" The man grinned amiably and appreciatively. "Quite a hand to hector, ain't ye, toll-keeper? He was goin' so fast I didn't know him, neither." He drove on, though the Cap'n hobbled after him, shouting strong language, in which the parrots joined. "You needn't try to make me think that there ain't nobody who don't know the Kun'l," was the retort the man flung over his shoulder.