"You slander the pup, Mr. Emerson!" smiled Pendleton.
"I do, indeed. I beg the pup's pardon. He's a—what is he?"
"He is the same as Porshinger—an abomination."
"That expresses it exactly—an abomination," Emerson agreed. He glanced quietly around. "He has joined Porshinger—they are scheming trouble for you, I'm afraid."
Pendleton smiled indifferently, and lit a cigarette.
"I wish I had your nerve," said Emerson admiringly. "To flout both Porshinger and Dolittle—make them both your vindictive enemies, and not to seem to care a damn. That's what you fellows call noblesse oblige, isn't it?"
"Most people would call it rank idiocy, I fear!" Pendleton laughed.
"Then me for the rank idiots. Here's to more of them, Mr. Pendleton, here's to more of them!" He put down his glass. "Who's this burning up the speed regulations? Gee! he certainly is hitting it up some."
"It looks like Mr. Lorraine's machine," Pendleton replied.
The car dashed up and made a spectacular stop—to the injury of the tires and the machinery—and Lorraine jumped out, followed by a man in a shabby uniform with a shield on the front of his waistcoat.