The fate of the sidewalk

On the sidewalk we met an elderly lady sitting. She wasn't begging and wasn't looking for a hospital ticket. Her dress of sober elegance, the embarrassed smile on her delicate face attested that she was only too sensitive to the incorrectness of her attitude.

Sick, I thought, or run over by one of those cars that scamper here and there on the sidewalks and shelters...

I approached her and helped her get up. Slowly, she recovered and apologized. And I knew the cause of this departure from the laws of decorum, unexpected on the part of an old lady of such distinguished appearance.

The cause of the accident was neither a bus, nor a truck, nor even a taxi. An innocent child's toy, a scooter cuter than a doll's car, had thrown the poor woman to the ground.

But, in our time, all fun turns to the exploit, to the record arbitrated in due form, and the murderous trotter, a big, stocky boy, for lack of possessing a 200 HP, tastes as best he can the intoxicating vertigo of the timed speed.