And just in time!
Around the corner whirled a policeman—and, by Jove, no less than that fat Irishman, O'Keefe! With him was the professor's man.
"Don't tell me," panted the officer; "I know my—"
And then he gave a shout and sprang for the car.
"It's that fellow that was prowling around the station house!" he yelled. "Here, stop there!"
But I didn't want to. For one thing, we were a half-block away, and I had badly coasted a towel supply wagon and scattered the wares of a push-cart across three sidewalks.
My cap went flying as we skidded a corner, and I was devilish glad, for the inertia threw Frances' head almost against mine and I felt the tickling brush of a little hair wisp as it swept my nose.
Her eyes were dancing with excitement. She looked back, waving her hand at the figure of O'Keefe trotting from around the corner, and her laughter pealed joyously, deliciously in my ear.
"Oh, I think American men are great—are wonderful!" she cried, striking her little hands together. "Especially Harvard men—and especially—" She stopped with the faintest catch.
"By Jove!" I cried. "Do you mean it?"