“Sure he was!”
“I saw it myself!”
“Looked like a head-on collision, I’ll tell the world!”
These and other cries came from the crowd, among whom the news that the great Baseball Joe occupied the cab with another famous twirler had spread like wildfire.
“Do me a favor, will you, officer?” urged Joe, taking out his watch and glancing at it hastily. “I’m already late for an appointment. Clear the road, will you, and let us get going?”
“So far as I see, there ain’t no particular objection to that,” returned the bluecoat, with exasperating deliberation. “The sidewalk ain’t no proper parkin’ place for an automobile, as you know. But as you seem to be havin’ plenty of witnesses that say ye couldn’t have done no different, ’twill be easy to overlook yer imperdence. Now thin,” turning to the crowd, “did any one of ye notice the license plate of that law-breakin’ car?”
Several persons came forward with more or less reliable information. After making a note of this, while Joe fumed with increasing impatience, the officer returned and grinned at them, his eyes snapping with humor.
“Lucky for McRae of the Giants that Baseball Joe kept a whole skin on him this day. When I get that truck driver I’ll be tellin’ him what I think of him in no unsartin terms. Good-bye to yez, and good luck.”
He thrust his huge paw inside the cab, and Joe gripped it heartily. For many years after this meeting with the great Giant twirler, Sergeant Dennis M’Lean was to exhibit proudly the hand that had been gripped by Baseball Joe.
They were off at last, crawling through the close-packed crowd, and with tremendous relief found themselves once more part of the traffic, speeding toward the Wheatstone Hotel where Mabel and Reggie were waiting for them.