rd, as Felicity
stepped between.

Bystanders screamed so efficiently that their shrill tumult drowned the
wail of overtaxed brakedrums. But that would have helped Felicity
little. Nor could the brakes, for that matter. The lunging start had
been too strong, the space too short to stop in.

Perry Blair, about whom those who screamed had heard something
unpleasant--oh, yes, yellow!--lanced down the narrowing aisle between
radiator and fenders. He struck Felicity like a vicious tackler yet
did not go down, but leaped again. As the cars crunched together they
slithered through the crowd, across the walk, against a wall, into a
heap. And the fall hurt Perry a little, even accustomed as he was to
the taking of blows yieldingly. He was slow to rise. The girl was
quickly up.

"Last down!" she gasped, but her exclamation was somewhat pallid like
her wit. "Hold 'em, Yale!"

Then, while she still faltered, uncertain, shaken, the occupant of the
lemon-tinted limousine came swiftly to her. He was a great hulk of a
man, yet light on his feet with that nimbleness which seems often
astonishing in huge people.

"Let me put you in my car, Miss Brown," he begged, "and set you safely
across. Not badly bruised, I trust?"

She gave him a flash of a glance and gasped again, but this time
inaudibly. His ease with her name did not surprise her. He'd seen her
often enough to know that. But this, she realized, was the first time
that she had really been impressed upon him. Not too steadily,
therefore, that she might need assistance, she let him help her back
across the sidewalk, to the car, and thus away. Pig-iron Dunham? Of
course. Knowing Felicity there is small cause to wonder that she went
without even remembering to thank her rescuer.

He was getting up now, the target of few eyes. Most of those who
lingered at all were staring after Dunham, Felicity and the lemon
limousine. And Perry was congratulating himself, even while with an
odd, detached expression he watched them go, that he had damaged but
little his clothing, when a hand fell on his sleeve.

Perry turned to find a reporter, Hamilton by name, peering at him
quizzically.

"Forgot to thank you, did she?" he laughed. "Oh, well, better come
along over to the Roof with me and watch her caper, and give her
another chance."

Perry didn't know whether he liked Hamilton or not, but he didn't
instinctively distrust him.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"You rea