“What could happen to her except that, like all other women, she has no notion of time! This car’s been here half an hour now. I suppose she can’t read either!”
“It’s been here only twenty-five minutes, officer,” corrected Katharine, showing him her watch.
“So you can tell time, even though you can’t read,” commented the officer, rather admiring the girl’s poise despite his annoyance.
“Well, you see,” began Katharine, resting both arms on the opened window, “when I was a little girl—(if I can only keep him interested until Pat comes!)—I was—” She broke off to gesticulate madly to her friends who were just coming out of the store.
The policeman wheeled sharply and saw three girls racing madly toward him. Just as Pat reached the car, the bag she was carrying broke, and a dozen oranges rolled in all directions.
“There!” cried Katharine triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you she just went in to get some oranges?”
What could the man do but help gather up the fruit and toss it into the car? Scarlet with exertion and embarrassment at the comments of passers-by, he finally faced Patricia sternly.
“Lady, you’ve been parked here half an hour, right under that sign. Can’t you read either?”
“Why, yes, a little,” replied Patricia, with a suspicious glance at Katharine. “But those signs are placed so high that if you’re in a low car, you really have an awful time seeing them at all. You can see for yourself that this one is directly over the top of the car. Get in and see.”
“Of course it is if you drive directly under it!” grumbled the man. “And the next time I see this car where it doesn’t belong, it gets a tag right away; whether your passengers can’t read, or you think the signs are too high, or—or anything else.”