The car slowly rolled through the business section, giving them interesting glimpses of attractive stores and windows filled with all sorts of goods. They crossed and recrossed the Milwaukee River, and, finally, on one of the more quiet streets, were bowling steadily along when the actions of a certain policeman attracted Bob Somers’ attention. He was standing by the curb with his eyes eagerly fixed on the approaching car.
“Hey there,” came a loud command. “Stop!”
“Is he speaking to us?” inquired Bob, turning to his companions with a puzzled look. He glanced about, and, seeing no other vehicles near, answered his own question. “Yes, he certainly is.”
“Have we busted any traffic regulations, I wonder?” asked Charlie.
“Maybe it’s ’cause we haven’t got no cow-catcher,” said Joe, with a grin.
“Hey there—stop!”
The man in uniform was stepping out into the street, the significant movement of his arm indicating an authority not to be questioned.
“Ha, ha—somebody’s pinched—jugged!” cried Joe. “Is this the feller you want?” His finger dug sharply into Victor Collins’ ribs. “I’ll help you tote him along.”
“I’d like to know what all this means!” exclaimed Tom, in his most manly tones.
Bob Somers smilingly awaited an explanation.