Mrs. Perkins. Worse! [Sobs.
Bradley. Killed?
Mrs. Perkins. Worse—l-lol-locked up—in jail—no bail—wants to be lamped out.
Bradley. Great heavens! Where?—when? What next? Where’s my hat?—what’ll the baby say? I must go to her at once.
Yardsley. Hold on, old man. Let me go up. You’re too excited. I know the police captain. You stay here, and I’ll run up and fix it with him. If you go, he’ll find out who Mrs. Hawkins is; you’ll get mad, and things will be worse than ever.
Bradley. But—
Barlow. No buts, my dear boy. You just stay where you are. Yardsley’s right. It would be an awful grind on you if this ever became known. Bob can fix it up in two minutes with the captain, and Mrs. Bradley can come right back with him. Besides, he can get there in five minutes on his wheel. It will take you twenty on the cars.
Yardsley. Precisely. Meanwhile, Brad, you’d better learn to ride the wheel, so that Mrs. B. won’t have to ride alone. This ought to be a lesson to you.
Perkins. Bully idea (rubbing his ankle). You can use my wheel to-night—I—I think I’ve had enough for the present. (Aside.) The pavements aren’t soft enough for me; and, O Lord! what a stony curb that was!
Bradley. I never thought I’d get so low.