In another moment he was out in the yard.

Good heavens!" said Mr. Bunting, hesitating between two horrible

alternatives. He heard a frightful struggle in the passage of the

inn, and his decision was made. He clambered out of the window,

adjusted his costume hastily, and fled up the village as fast as

his fat little legs would carry him.

From the moment when the Invisible Man screamed with rage and Mr.

Bunting made his memorable flight up the village, it became

impossible to give a consecutive account of affairs in Iping.

Possibly the Invisible Man's original intention was simply to cover

Marvel's retreat with the clothes and books. But his temper, at no

time very good, seems to have gone completely at some chance blow,

and forthwith he set to smiting and overthrowing, for the mere

satisfaction of hurting.

You must figure the street full of running figures, of doors

slamming and fights for hiding-places. You must figure the tumult

suddenly striking on the unstable equilibrium of old Fletcher's

planks and two chairs--with cataclysmic results. You must figure

an appalled couple caught dismally in a swing. And then the whole

tumultuous rush has passed and the Iping street with its gauds and

flags is deserted save for the still raging unseen, and littered

with cocoanuts, overthrown canvas screens, and the scattered stock

The Invisible Man