ought to call the patrol right now--"

"Get the undertaker on the line first!" Casey advised him
ominously.

Traffic was piling up behind them, and horns were honking a
blatant chorus that extended two blocks up the street. The
traffic officer glanced into the troubled gray eyes of the Little
Woman beside Casey and took his foot off the running board.

"Better go put up your bail and then forfeit it," he advised in a
milder tone. "The judge will probably remember you; I do, and my
memory ain't the best in the world. Twice you've been hooked for
speeding through traffic; and parking by fire-plugs and in front
of the No Park signs and after four, seems to be your big outdoor
sport. Forfeit your bail, old boy--or it's thirty days for you,
sure."

Casey Ryan made bitter retort, but the traffic cop had gone to
untangle two furious Fords from a horse-drawn mail wagon, so he
did not hear. Which was good luck for Casey.

"Why do you persist in making trouble for yourself?" the Little
Woman beside him exclaimed. "It can't be so hard to obey the
rules; other drivers do. I know that I have driven this car all
over town without any trouble whatever."

Casey hogged the next safety-zone line to the deep disgust of a
young movie star in a cream-and-silver racer, and pulled in to
the curb just where he could not be passed.