"Mrs. W—W—" It was impossible to articulate that tongue-worrying name with her lord glaring at her so dreadfully.
The man blenched.
"Not old Weatherwax!"
"Y-yes."
Bowers's jaw hung flaccid. This phenomenon continuing, Mrs. Bowers took alarm.
"You've not gone and had a stroke, have you?" she wavered timidly, feeling for his pulse.
Bowers revived with a grunt, and bolted for the door. His buggy wheel protested stridently as he cramped the vehicle at the horse-block, reassuring Mrs. Bowers that his natural force was not abated; and his flight down town affronted the ordinance against reckless driving which he himself had framed.
Shelby, unnaturally pale, but composed, was issuing from his office staircase, and joined him directly at the curb.
"Jump in," said Bowers, making room.
"No time now."