Penny swerved in time to avoid a crash, but the fenders of the two cars jarred together.
The girls sprang out to see how much damage had been done. The driver of the gray sedan likewise drew up to the curbing and alighted. He was a tall, thin man with a black moustache, immaculately dressed in gray tweeds. He wore a gardenia in the lapel of his well-tailored coat.
"See what you've done!" he accused angrily before either Penny or Susan could speak. "Just look at that."
He pointed to the rear fender which had been badly dented and bent. Penny cast an appraising glance at her own car and was relieved to note that save for a few minor scratches it had not been damaged.
"It's too bad," she acknowledged with a polite show of sympathy. "Didn't you see the boulevard stop?"
The man turned upon her wrathfully. "Of course I saw it. And I made the required stop too."
"Oh, no you didn't," Susan interposed heatedly. "You just barged right in without looking in either direction."
"What do you intend to do about my fender?" the man demanded testily of Penny, ignoring Susan entirely.
"Nothing. The fault was entirely yours. You're lucky the accident wasn't any worse."
"We'll see about this," the driver snapped. He made a great ado of copying down the license number of Penny's car.