“Perhaps you are right, Dottie,” agreed Neale, still gravely, but speaking to Agnes. “Anyhow, he lost his wife and then his little girl. He’s gone all to pieces, they say. It’s an awfully sad case. And do you know who that big man is?”
“No,” said Agnes, still unnoticing and gazing after the disappearing car.
“That’s Jim Brady. He’s a ward leader on the other side of town. He’s very powerful in politics——”
“Oh, Neale!” cried Agnes, suddenly, seizing her friend’s arm.
“Hul-lo! What’s the matter?” asked Neale.
“Do you know who that fellow was that drove the car? Did you see him?”
“No-o. I didn’t notice him much. He had dust goggles on——”
“I know! I know!” cried the excited girl. “They concealed his face a good deal. But I saw the freckles.”
“The freckles?” repeated Neale, wonderingly.
“Yes. Of course. It was that freckled fellow who spoke to Ruth that day.”