Mr. Mix swelled, pompously. “But, officer, I––”
“Cut it out. Name?”
“Theodore Mix. But––”
“Address?”
Mr. Mix gave it, but before he could add a postscript, Mirabelle was on active duty. “Officer, we’ve got a perfect right to know what all 276 this fol-de-rol is about. I’m the president of the Ethical Reform League.” She flirted her badge at him. “I’m Mrs. Theodore Mix––used to be Miss Starkweather. My husband is a personal friend of Mayor Rowland, and the Chief of Police. I demand to know the reason for this insult!”
The policeman tore off a page at the perforation, and handed it to Mr. Mix. “Judge Barklay’s Court, Tuesday, 10 A.M.... Why, you’re violatin’ City Ordinance 147.”
Mirabelle turned red. “Now you see here, young man, I know that ordinance backwards and forwards! I––”
“Try it sideways,” said the unabashed policeman. “Ordinance says nobody can’t engage in no diversion on the Lord’s Day. That’s today, and this here limousine’s a diversion, ain’t it?”
Mr. Mix cried out in anguish, as her grip tightened. “Ouch! It’s a damned outrage! Leggo my arm.”
“No, it isn’t! Oh, Theodore, don’t you see what it means––”