Virginia became the custodian of his secret with great calmness and solemnly confessed, “We were running over the speed limit, too. Ike usually does. He knows that I enjoy going fast. The speed limit in this town is away too low, I think.”
“Yes,” he concurred, “I wouldn’t have been hurt worse if I had been running twice as fast. The point is, that we could both be arrested and fined for speeding.”
“They always arrest Ike,” she explained with complacency. “He doesn’t care a bit. He’s used to it.” Anxiety arose in her eyes. “Surely, they wouldn’t arrest one as badly hurt as you?”
“You don’t know that judge.” Joe spoke with experience. “If they brought a dying man into his court who had only fifty dollars to leave to his widow and children, that judge would take it from him for speeding. That is, if he rode a motorcycle.”
“Oh, the injustice of it. Doesn’t he care for motorcyclists?”
“No,” asserted Joe with great forcefulness. “Nobody likes a motorcyclist.”
“I do,” proclaimed Virginia, and then, after taking a moment to recover from the embarrassment of her own outspokenness, she continued, “It’s not right. They are entitled to equal justice,” as if enunciating a newly discovered truth.
“Sure, they are entitled to it, but they don’t get it. That’s why I must keep quiet. My accident insurance will take care of my hospital bills and my job will keep.”
“Why don’t you collect damages?” urged Virginia with great gravity.
“From whom?”