“I’m on a very important errand,” she began, “and——”
“I can’t help that, miss, you ought to have had someone with you that knew the rules.”
Her eyes were perplexed, and she looked about her as if for help. For a moment her gaze fell on Orme, who was close to the policeman’s elbow.
Now, Orme had a winning and disarming smile. Without hesitation, he touched the policeman on the shoulder, beamed pleasantly, and said: “Pardon me, officer, but this car was forced over by that dray.”
“She was on the wrong side,” returned the policeman, after a glance which modified his first intention to take offense. “She had no business over here.”
“It was either that or a collision. My wheel was scraped, as it was.” She, too, was smiling now.
The policeman pondered. He liked to be called “officer”; he liked to be smiled upon; and the girl, to judge from her manner and appearance, might well be the daughter of a man of position. “Well,” he said after a moment, “be more careful another time.” He turned and went back to his work among the other vehicles, covering the weakness of his surrender by a fresh display of angry authority.
The girl gave a little sigh of relief and looked at Orme. “Thank you,” she said.
Then he remembered that he did not know this girl. “Can I be of further service?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, “I think not. But thank you just the same.” She gave him a friendly little nod and turned to the steering-gear.