this
wrapping paper, have you? I like to feel my money in my pocket."

"No, sir, I have not!"

"All right, boss. No bad feelin's!"

Then he ignored Mr. Boltwood. His eyes focused on Claire's face. To
steady himself on the running-board he had placed his left hand on the
side of the car, his right on the back of the seat. That right hand slid
behind her. She could feel its warmth on her back.

She burst out, flaring, "Kindly do not touch me!"

"Gee, did I touch you, girlie? Why, that's a shame!" he drawled, his
cracked broad lips turning up in a grin.

An instant later, as they skipped round a bend of the long, high-hung
shelf road, he pretended to sway dangerously on the running-board, and
deliberately laid his filthy hand on her shoulder. Before she could say
anything he yelped in mock-regret, "Love o' Mike! 'Scuse me, lady. I
almost fell off."

Quietly, seriously, Claire said, "No, that wasn't accidental. If you
touch me again, I'll stop the car and ask you to walk."

"Better do it now, dolly!" snapped Mr. Boltwood.

The man hooked his left arm about the side-post of the open
window-shield. It was a strong arm, a firm grip. He seized her left
wrist with his free hand. Though all the while his eyes grotesquely kept
their amused sparkle, and beside them writhed laughter-wrinkles, he
shouted hoarsely, "You'll stop hell!" His hand slid from her wrist to
the steering wheel. "I can drive this boat's well as you can. You make
one move to stop, and I steer her over---- Blooie! Down the bank!"

He did twist the front wheels dangerously near to the outer edge of the
shelf road. Mr. Boltwood gazed at the hand on the wheel. With a quick
breath Claire looked at the side of the road. If the car ran off, it
would shoot down forty feet ... turning over and over.

"Y-you wouldn't dare, because you'd g-go, too!" she panted.

"Well, dearuh, you just try any monkey business and you'll find out how
much I'll gggggggo-too! I'll start you down the joy-slope and jump off,
savvy? Take your foot off that clutch."

She obeyed.

"Pretty lil feet, ain't they, cutie! Shoes cost about twelve bucks, I
reckon. While a better man than you or old moldy-face there has to hit
the pike in three-dollar brogans. Sit down, yuh fool!"

This last to Mr. Boltwood, who had stood up, swaying with the car, and
struck at him. With a huge arm the man swept Mr. Boltwood back into the
seat, but without a word to her father, he continued to Claire: