W. Crispin Sheppard

Summary

W. Crispin Sheppard The Rambler Club's motor car (1913)

GEORGY, THE GIANT
Victor Collins had not yet arrived at an age when a circus loses its power to thrill the heart with joy. Each gilded chariot, each gaudy menagerie wagon or gorgeous trapping still awoke within his breast a responsive chord.
“They’re driving in stakes, Brandon,” he exclaimed. “See—there’s a wagon—a four-horser, and lots of others back. We’re just in time to watch ’em put up the tent.”
Source: Gutenberg

W. Crispin Sheppard The Rambler Club's motor car (1913)

And all this time the red lantern on the back of Spudger’s vehicle was growing larger and stronger. A mass of formless dark, with surprising suddenness, resolved itself into the shape of a buggy and trotting horse.
As Dave sped past he heard loud exclamations and yells in Peter Whiffin’s familiar voice. Then he was plunging on and on into the blackness, with nothing but an occasional gleam of electric flame to light the way.
Source: Gutenberg

W. Crispin Sheppard The Rambler Club's motor car (1913)

Before the crowd could set foot on deck Phil Malone appeared. He was tall and angular, with red hair, a long, gaunt face and deep-set eyes. He looked at his visitors with such a comical expression of astonishment that Victor, forgetting his ill-humor for the moment, burst into a hearty laugh.
“You never expected to see a bunch of Indians like this, hey, Phil?” he asked.
“Naw—I—I sure didn’t,” agreed Phil, as he diffidently backed away.
“Here now, don’t you run off. Give us a song.”
“Let Phil alone,” commanded Uncle Ralph. “Singing isn’t his forte. He’s better at polishing brass.”
Source: Gutenberg

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