Thompson stood on the running board, panting a little, the blaze of a
quick anger bright in his blue eyes, and he became aware of two men in
the rear seat of the gray car, gazing at him in open-mouthed
astonishment. One was fat and long past forty, well fed, well dressed, a
prosperous citizen. The other was a slim youngster in the early
twenties, astonishingly like his older companion as to feature.
Thompson looked at them, and back at the cowed driver who was feeling
his neck and face with shaky fingers. Just then three things
happened--simultaneously. The traffic whistle blew. The younger man
opened his mouth and uttered, "I say--" Sophie plucked at Thompson's
arm, crying "Sit down, sit down."
Thompson was still fumbling the catch on the door when they swept over
the cross street and raced down the next block. He looked back. The gray
car was hidden somewhere in a rolling phalanx of other motors. The
traffic had split and flowed about and past it, stalled there doubtless
while the red-faced chauffeur wiped the blood out of his eyes and
wondered if a street car had struck him.
"Do you habitually reprove ill-bred persons in that vigorous manner?"
He became aware of Sophie speaking.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224