d as
she backed under the imperative command of the traffic officer, one rear
hub clinked against the hind fender of the other, jarring both cars a
little, dinting the gray one's fender, marring the glossy finish.

A chauffeur in a peaked cap drove the gray machine. He looked across at
Sophie, scowling. He was young and red-faced, a pugnacious-looking
individual.

"Back to the country, Jane, an' practice on the farm wagon," he snarled
out of one corner of his mouth. "Yuh drive like a hick, yuh do."

"Talk civil to a woman," Thompson snapped back at him, "or keep your
mouth shut."

The chauffeur bestowed upon him a rancorous glare. His sharp, ferret
eyes gleamed. Then he deliberately spat upon the impeccably shining red
hood of Sophie's roadster.

A scant arm's length separated him from Thompson. Thompson bridged that
gap with his feet still on the running-board of the roadster. He moved
so quickly that the chauffeur had no chance. He did try to slide out
from behind the wheel and his fist doubled and drew back, but Thompson's
work-hardened fingers closed about his neck, and the powerful arms back
of those clutching hands twisted the man out of all position to strike
any sort of blow. He yanked the chauffeur's head out over the side of
the car, struck him one open-handed slap that was like an earnest cluff
from a sizable bear, lifted again and banged the man's face down on the
controls on his wheels, then pushed him back into his seat, limp and
disheveled, all the insolent defiance knocked out of him.

Thompson stood on the running board, panting a little, the blaze of a
quick anger bright in his blue eyes, and he became aware of two men in
the rear seat of the gray car, gazing at him in open-mouthed
astonishment. One was fat and long past forty, well fed, well dressed, a
prosperous citizen. The other was a slim youngster in the early
twenties, astonishingly like his older companion as to feature.

Thompson looked at them, and back at the cowed driver who was feeling
his neck and face with shaky fingers. Just then three things
happened--simultaneously. The traffic whistle blew. The younger man
opened his mouth and uttered, "I say--" Sophie plucked at Thompson's
arm, crying "Sit down, sit down."

Thompson was still fumbling the catch on the door when they swept over
the cross street and raced down the next block. He looked back. The gray
car was hidden somewhere in a rolling phalanx of other motors. The
traffic