“Things has came to a pretty pass when a lot of irresponsible kids can go chasin’ all around creation in a motor car. Do you know what you done last night?”
The familiar flush appeared once more on Tom Clifton’s face as many pairs of eyes were leveled in his direction.
“What do you mean?” he stammered.
“It’s a wonder it doesn’t mean a ten thousand dollar suit for damages!” thundered Mr. Whiffin, savagely. “An’ it’s only by good luck that you ain’t mixed up in the biggest kind of a rumpus. That car o’ yourn stampeded our elephants—that’s what it done!”
“I’m very sorry to hear it,” spoke up Bob Somers, quietly, “but you can hardly blame us. We had just as much right to the road as you.”
“No sass, now!” cried Whiffin.
Tom was trembling with indignation.
“Seems to me you’re handing some out yourself,” he managed to say.
“I’m good at it,” snapped Whiffin. “Anybody what deserves sass gits their full share from me.”
“By George, if I’d only known it was the Ramblers in that car,” cried Victor, recovering from his surprise, “maybe some mud balls wouldn’t have been flying!”