n the City Hall Mr. Todd passed with high
honours. Willie, who was with us on the fateful morning, exclaimed
in admiration: "One hundred! Well, Mr. Todd, you're alive, after
all--from the neck up, at least."

In gratitude for the compliment, the glowing graduate pressed a
bonus of two dollars into the panegyrist's palm. "Willie," he exulted,
"did you hear the inspector call me reckless?"

I can scarcely think of the Todd of the succeeding weeks as the same
Todd who bought me. He changed even in looks. He would always be a
second, of course, but his frame had rigidity now, his lamps sparkled,
he gripped the wheel with purposeful hands and trampled the pedals
in the way an engine likes. In his new assurance he reminded me
strongly of a man who drove me for a too brief while in my younger
days--a rare fellow, now doing time, I believe, in the penitentiary.

No longer Todd and I needed the traffic cop's "Get on out of
there, you corn-sheller!" to push us past the busy intersection
of Broad and Main streets. We conquered our tendency to scamper
panic-stricken for the sidewalk at the raucous bark of a jitney bus.
In the winding roads of the park we learned to turn corners on two
wheels and rest the other pair for the reverse curve.

One remembered day we went for a run in the country. On a ten-mile
piece of new macadam he gave me all the gas I craved. It was the
final test, the consummation, and little old Mr. Todd was all there.
I felt so good I could have blown my radiator cap off to him.

For he was a master I could trust--and all my brother used cars,
whether manufactured or merely born, will understand what comfort
that knowledge gives a fellow. I vowed I would do anything for that
man! On that very trip, indeed, I carried him the last homeward mile
on nothing in my tank but a faint odour.

II

Mrs. Todd was one of those gentle souls who get their happiness in
being unhappy in the presence of their so-called loved ones. She was
perpetually displeased with Todd.

His Christian name was James, but she did not speak Christian to him.
When she hailed him from the house she called him "Jay-eems"--the
"eems" an octave higher than the "Jay."

He would drop the grease-can or the monkey-wrench to rush to her side.

"Look at your sleeves!" she would say. "Your best shirt!" Words
failing her, she would sigh and go into a silence that was worse
than words. He was a great burden to her.

Humbly he entreated her one