The car was barely rolling along, while its two occupants were talking earnestly, their heads as close together as was possible under the circumstances.
“Johnny Parkinson, as I’m alive!” uttered Travers Gladwin. “Me old college chum, and as per 138 usual––making love. Yis, me grinning chauffeur frind, here’s where we make a pinch an’ test Mme. Flynn’s eyebrows. Officer, do your duty!”
Out he stepped into the roadway and raised his nightstick.
The big car came to a sudden stop and the two occupants stared angrily at the cause of the interruption.
“I arrest yez in the name o’ the law,” cried Patrolman Gladwin, scowling so fiercely that one of the eyebrows was in danger.
“What’s that?” snorted the young aristocrat.
“You’re me pris’ner,” said Gladwin, easily. “I arrest ye fer breaking the speed laws––racin’ on the aven-oo.”
“It’s an outrage!” cried the pretty passenger. “We were scarcely crawling, Johnny.”
“You must be joking, officer,” said Johnny Parkinson, not very belligerently, for he had a bad record for speeding and wasn’t sure that some earlier offense was not involved.
“I’m not jokin’,” replied Gladwin, walking to the door of the tonneau and opening it, “and ye’ll oblige me by drivin’ to the police station.” He got in and lolled back cozily in the cushions.