“No sass—I don’t take none.”
“Same here.”
“Jest listen at that, gents! He ain’t satisfied with tying up the whole car line; but he hands out sass. Can you beat it?” and, with a wave of his hand, the motorman appealed to the crowd.
“Quit your row, now,” broke in George, sharply.
“Me—makin’ a row? Well, did I ever hear sich talk? Thirty-one an’ a half minutes late! Any more of that sass comin’?”
“Do you think I stopped here on purpose?”
“Wal, you’ll git out on purpose. Now I——”
“What’s the trouble here?” exclaimed an authoritative voice.
A policeman pushed his way forward. Then, as his eyes rested on the number of the automobile, he uttered an exclamation.
“Just the one we’re looking for,” he said, eagerly. “Where are the fellows running it?”