Amazed, the chief of police dropped from the step and advanced indignantly.
“Me?” he demanded. “I ain’t got a gun. What you mean by——”
With sudden intelligence, the chauffeur precipitated himself upon the scene.
“It’s the other one,” he shouted. He shook an accusing finger at the selectman. “He pointed it at the lady.”
To Miss Forbes the realism of Fred’s acting was too convincing. To learn that one is covered with a loaded revolver is disconcerting. Miss Forbes gave a startled squeak, and ducked her head.
Winthrop roared aloud at the selectman.
“How dare you frighten the lady!” he cried. “Take your hand off that gun.”
“What you talkin’ about?” shouted the selectman. “The idea of my havin’ a gun! I haven’t got a——”
“All right, Fred!” cried Winthrop. “Low bridge.”
There was a crash of shattered glass and brass, of scattered barrel staves, the smell of escaping gas, and the Scarlet Car was flying drunkenly down the main street.