"Why?" asked Winthrop.

The voice became embodied in the person of a tall man, with a
long overcoat and a drooping mustache.

"'Cause I tell you to!" snapped the tall man.

Winthrop threw a quick glance to the rear. In that direction
for a mile the road lay straight away. He could see its
entire length, and it was empty. In thinking of nothing but
Miss Forbes, he had forgotten the chaperon. He was impressed
with the fact that the immediate presence of a chaperon was
desirable. Directly in front of the car, blocking its
advance, were two barrels, with a two-inch plank sagging
heavily between them. Beyond that the main street of Fairport
lay steeped in slumber and moonlight.

"I am a selectman," said the one with the lantern. "You been
exceedin' our speed limit."

The chauffeur gave a gasp that might have been construed to
mean that the charge amazed and shocked him.

"That is not possible," Winthrop answered. "I have been going
very slow--on purpose--to allow a disabled car to keep up with
me."

The selectman looked down the road.

"It ain't kep' up with you," he said pointedly.