The officer pushed back his hat in perplexity. He felt that something was wrong, but could not quite put his finger on it. With all our money spent on schools, and this young woman couldn’t read.
“Well, anyhow, whether you can read or not, you can’t park here.”
“But this isn’t my car, and I can’t drive.”
“Where is the owner?”
“In there,” pointing to the store. “She’ll be out in just a minute. I think she went in to buy—oranges.”
“Well, if she isn’t out by the time I come around again, she gets a tag; and that’s flat!”
Wrathfully the officer strode on, and Katharine sank back comfortably against the cushions again. Five minutes passed; ten; and still no signs of Patricia. Katharine began to fidget nervously and wish she had gone into the store with the girls. Still, if she had, the car would have been tagged at once; even now perhaps she could stave the man off again if he came around before Pat got back.
There he was, striding along as if he meant business! “I wish Pat and her oranges were in Hades,” thought Katharine, preparing to smile sweetly at the irate officer.
“She hasn’t come yet,” she said, leaning out of the window and speaking confidentially. “Something must have happened to her. I’m so worried. What ought I to do, do you think?”
Momentarily disarmed by the unexpected greeting, the man removed his hat and scratched his head. Then suddenly realizing that he was being worked, he snapped: