tickets such as drivers dread to see began to write down the
number of Casey's car. This man did not argue. He finished his
work briskly, presented another notice which advised Casey Ryan
to report immediately to police headquarters, waved Casey
peremptorily to proceed, and returned to his little square
platform to the chorus of blatting automobile horns.

"The cops in this town hands out tickets like they was Free
Excursion peddlers!" snorted Casey, his eyes a pale glitter
behind his half-closed lids. "They can go around me, or they can
honk and be darned to 'em. Git behind the wheel, ma'am--Casey
Ryan's drove the last inch he'll ever drive in this darned town.
If they pinch me again, it'll have to be fer walkin'."

The Little Woman looked at him, pressed her lips together and
moved behind the wheel. She did not say a word all the way out
to the white apartment house on Vermont which held the four rooms
they called home. She parked the car dexterously in front and
led the way to their apartment (ground floor, front) before she
looked at me.

"It's coming to a show-down, Jack," she said then with a faint
smile. "He's on probation already for disobeying traffic rules
of one sort and other, and his fines cost more than the entire
upkeep of the car. I think he really will have to go to jail this
time. It just isn't in Casey Ryan to take orders from any one,
especially when his own personal habits of driving a car are
concerned."

"Town life is getting on his nerves," I tried to defend Casey,