ith sticky
fingers--no, thanks. Can't tell Mabel that, though. She seems to think
they are all little wonders. And Dick is just as bad--rushes home early
every afternoon so he can have half an hour with 'em. Huh!"

"Maybe you'll feel different," says I, "if you ever collect a family of
your own."

"Me?" says Babe. "Fat chance!"

I couldn't help agreein' with him. I could see now why he'd shied
matrimony so consistent. With sentiments like that he'd looked on Sister
Mabel as a horrible example. Besides, followin' sports the way he did, a
wife and kids wouldn't fit in at all.

We'd made half the circle and was tearing along the middle road on the
back stretch at a Vanderbilt cup gait when all of a sudden Babe jams on
the emergency and we skids along until we brings up a few yards beyond
where this young lady is flaggin' us frantic with a pink-lined
throw-scarf.

"What the deuce!" asks Babe, starin' back.

"Looks like a help wanted hail," says I. "She's got a bunch of
youngsters with her and--yep, one of 'em is all gory. See!"

"O Lord!" groans Babe. "Well, I suppose I must."

As he backs up the machine I stretches my neck around and takes a look
at this wayside group. Three little girls are huddled panicky around
this young party who wears a brown velvet tam at such a rakish angle on
top of her wavy brown hair. And cuddled up in her left arm she's holdin'
a chubby youngster whose face is smeared with blood something startlin'.

"You don't happen to be a doctor, do you?" she demands of Babe.

"Heavens, no!" says he.

"But perhaps you know what to do to stop nose bleeding?" she goes on.

"Why, let's see," says Babe. "Oh, yes! Put a cold door key on the back
of his neck."

"Or a piece of brown paper on his tongue," I adds.

The young lady shrugs her shoulders disappointed. "I've tried all that,"
says she, "and an ice pack, too. But it's no use. I must get him to a
doctor right away. There's one about a mile down this road. Couldn't you
take us?"

"Sure thing!" says Babe. "Torchy, you can hang on the back, can't you?"

"Oh, I can walk home," says I.

"No, no," says Babe, hasty. "You--you'd best come along."

So I helps load in the young lady and the claret drippin' youngster,
drapes myself on the spare tires, and we're off.

"Is it little brother?" asks Babe, glancin' at the kid.

"Mine?" says the young lady. "Of course not. I'm Lucy Snell--one of the
teachers at the public school back there at the cr