Driving mechanically, she weaved through downtown traffic, now and then halting for a red light. As she was starting ahead from an intersection, an elderly man suddenly stepped from the curb. His gaze was upon the pavement, and he did not see the car.
Penny swerved the wheel and slammed on the foot brake. The edge of the fender brushed the man’s overcoat. He gasped in astonishment and staggered backwards.
Penny brought the car to a standstill at the curb.
“You’re not hurt?” she called anxiously.
“No—no,” the man murmured in a bewildered way.
As he turned his face toward her, Penny recognized Matthew Judson, the former publisher of the Morning Press. Calling him by name, she invited him into the car.
“Let me take you home, or wherever you are going,” she urged. “You don’t look well, Mr. Judson. I am afraid I frightened you.”
“It was my fault,” admitted the old gentleman, staring at Penny. “I—I was thinking about something when I stepped from the curb.”
“This is a dangerous intersection. Please, Mr. Judson, can’t I take you home?”
“If you insist,” he murmured, entering the car. “You seem to know my name, but I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance.”