The mule ran
along the highway, leaped a roadside ditch, and then stopped short in
front of a grassy bank. So sudden was the halt that Mr. Bunn shot
over the animal's head, his hold around the neck being broken, and he
was thus neatly upset, coming down amid the luxurious growth of
grass.
He sat there dazed for a moment, his face being now curiously
streaked, for some of the powdered carbon had rubbed off on the
mule's neck. As for Hee-haw, he began quietly cropping the grass, as
if he had done his part of the entertainment.
"Oh, if I had only been able to get that on the film!" cried Russ, as
he and the others ran up. "Maybe we can get him to do it over again,
Mr. Pertell."
"What--do that again! Never! I resign here and now!" exclaimed the
actor. "I am through with the moving picture business forever!"
But as he had often said that before, and as he was in the habit of
resigning at least once every day, no one took him seriously.
"Are you hurt, my dear sir?" asked the manager, solicitously, as he
reached Mr. Bunn's side.
"If I am not, it is not due to you," was the retort. "But I believe I
have escaped with my life."
He arose gingerly, and discovered that he had not even a scratch. The
soft grass had saved him from everything but a jolt.
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