ng.

"To Schwitter's, of course," one of them grumbled. "We might as well go
out of business."

"There's no money in running a straight place. Schwitter and half a
dozen others are getting rich."

"That was Wilson, the surgeon in town. He cut off my brother-in-law's
leg--charged him as much as if he had grown a new one for him. He used
to come here. Now he goes to Schwitter's, like the rest. Pretty girl he
had with him. You can bet on Wilson."

So Max Wilson was taking Sidney to Schwitter's, making her the butt of
garage talk! The smiles of the men were evil. Joe's hands grew cold, his
head hot. A red mist spread between him and the line of electric lights.
He knew Schwitter's, and he knew Wilson.

He flung himself into his car and threw the throttle open. The car
jerked, stalled.

"You can't start like that, son," one of the men remonstrated. "You let
'er in too fast."

"You go to hell!" Joe snarled, and made a second ineffectual effort.

Thus adjured, the men offered neither further advice nor assistance. The
minutes went by in useless cranking--fifteen. The red mist grew heavier.
Every lamp was a danger signal. But when K., growing uneasy, came out
into the yard, the engine had started at last. He was in time to see Joe
run his car into the road and turn it viciously toward Schwitter's.

Carlotta's nearness was having its calculated effect on Max Wilson. His
spirits rose as the engine, marking perfect time, carried them along the
quiet roads.

Partly it was reaction--relief that she should be so reasonable, so
complaisant--and a sort of holiday spirit after the day's hard work.
Oddly enough, and not so irrational as may appear, Sidney formed a
part of the evening's happiness--that she loved him; that, back in the
lecture-room, eyes and even mind on the lecturer, her heart was with
him.

So, with Sidney the basis of his happiness, he made the most of his
evening's freedom. He sang a little in his clear tenor--even, once when
they had slowed down at a crossing, bent over audaciously and kissed
Carlotta's hand in the full glare of a passing train.

"How reckless of you!"

"I like to be reckless," he replied.

His boyishness annoyed Carlotta. She did not want the situation to get
out of hand. Moreover, what was so real for her was only too plainly a
lark for him. She began to doubt her power.

The hopelessness of her situation was dawning on her. Even when the
touch of her beside him and the solitude