The boy had dodged in front of the first automobile with Dorothy close at his heels. It seemed to the excited Tavia as though the car missed her chum by a fraction of an inch and she was equally certain that the second car would not miss her at all!
“Dorothy!” she shrieked again, and without thinking of her own danger dashed out into the street.
She fully expected to see Dorothy stretched beneath the wheels of the second car. Instead she beheld the amazing sight of her chum standing in the middle of the road breathing heavily, but triumphant, her hand gripping the collar of the squirming Popella lad.
Tavia was not sure whether she wanted to laugh at the spectacle or burst into tears of relief and reaction. She did neither. Instead, she took Dorothy by the arm and led her, still clutching Popella, back to the safety of the sidewalk.
“Now maybe you will explain yourself, Dorothy Dale,” she gasped. “Do you know you very nearly gave me heart failure, flinging yourself at those automobiles? Tried your best to get killed, didn’t you?”
“Hush, Tavia! Let’s move on,” said Dorothy, looking uneasily about her. “We don’t want to attract attention.” And she started down the street, dragging with her her unwilling prisoner.
“Does this go with us?” asked Tavia in a stage whisper, indicating the young Italian. “If you are so anxious not to attract attention, Doro darling, I might suggest that you set your prisoner free.”
“Not until he answers a few questions!” returned Dorothy. Her eyes were hard and bright and her grip tightened on the young Italian’s collar as he tried once more to wriggle free.
“Well, I suppose you know your own business best,” sighed Tavia. “But I do wish you wouldn’t be so mysterious about it.”
They had reached a side street and Dorothy paused and addressed her scowling captive.