"Well, I am from Denver, Colorado, where folks don't fuss like you do in the East, just because you cross a street to get to the other side!" declared Dodo, in self-justification.
"From Denver! Got a New York license to drive?" said he.
"No, I haven't, but I've driven all over England and the Continent this Summer--as these girls will tell you. They were in the party."
"It's nothing to me whether you drove up the Matterhorn and down the other side; as long as you can't show me a plain old American license, you'll have to pay the costs."
"How much is it?" quickly asked Dodo, taking her purse out to settle the bill.
"I don't know. You'd better follow me to the police station and we'll see."
Dodo was handed a little paper which she read aloud to her horrified companions, and thus, finding themselves arrested, they meekly tried to follow the blue-jacket. But the cars had not been disentangled, although both boys from the racer were doing their utmost to clear the way.
As the storm raised in the hearts of the two students by the carelessness of Dodo abated, both boys realized how pretty and helpless the five girls were, so they began to feel sorry for them. Besides this, the front wheels were now divorced and the two cars backed away from each other to give room for the congested traffic to pass.
"Dear me," wailed Dodo, "what will Mr. Dalken say when he hears about his car! I don't mind going to jail or being made to pay a hundred dollars fine, but to break up his automobile the first time I drove it, and get his license tag into trouble--that is terrible!"
Polly laughed. "Not Dalken's license tag, but his name--in the papers. That's what comes of being so well-known in New York."
"And the newspaper men will be sure to say that a party of joy-riders stole his car to have a little jaunt in the country, I suppose," added Eleanor, teasingly.
One of the good-looking young students now came over to the girls and lifted his cap. "Did I understand you to say this is Mr. Dalken's car?"
Five girls glowered at him. Polly snapped out: "Are you a reporter from a city paper?"
John Baxter laughed. "No, I am his protegé. Mr. Dalken is the executor of my father's estate and I was just on my way to the city, to visit him, this evening."