Mr. Masterman shook his head. But, at the same time, the eyelid next Miss Stella, answering a brief contraction of Bob Masterman's cheek, swiftly closed and opened in a movement that the others did not see.
"Precisely, brother," acknowledged Miss Yockley; then, turning toward the two in the tonneau, with her plump arm laid along the back of the seat, she said, with a rapid change of subject;
"Here's a couple that ain't speakin', Bob. What does a fellow do in a case like that?"
"Run for the Doctor," suggested Mr. Masterman, over his shoulder. "Where do you want to go, Nick?"
"Home, James," said Mr. Cluett. Then, as he roused himself from an attack of pensiveness, during which he had been making little unconscious passes with his arms, accompanied by swift light jerks of the shoulders he added thoughtfully, "Some class to that fellow, Bob."
"Class is right," said Mr. Masterman; "but no more masks for us, boy. Never again."
"Oh, I don't know," pondered Nick Cluett; "I'd fight him again, mask and all, just to learn something about that style of guard he's got. Fightin' them other dubs will never get me anywhere: it's too much like bowling."
After turning a few corners, the car was halted near a big seven-story, midtown block, the ground floor of which was occupied by a sporting goods store on one side, and a great bright-windowed restaurant on the other.
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here!" said Mr. Masterman, bustlingly, clicking open the fore and tonneau doors of the automobile; "everybody change!"