ulted over the runabout, landing abruptly in a sitting position on
the corner of the vacant lot beyond, his self-righteousness
considerably jarred.

A new traffic officer had been detailed to watch that intersection and
teach a driving world that it must not cut corners. A bright, new
traffic button had been placed in the geographical center of the
crossing; and woe be unto the right-hand pocket of any man who failed
to drive circumspectly around it. New traffic officers are apt to be
keenly conscientious in their work. At twenty-five dollars per cut,
sixteen unhappy drivers had been taught where the new button was
located and had been informed that twelve miles per hour at that
crossing would be tolerated, and that more would be expensive.

Not all drivers take their teaching meekly, and the new traffic officer
near the end of his shift had pessimistically decided that the driving
world is composed mostly of blamed idiots and hardened criminals.

He gritted his teeth ominously when Casey Ryan came down upon the
crossing at double the legal speed. He held his breath for an instant
during the crash that resounded for blocks. When the dust had settled,
he ran over and yanked off the dented sand of the vacant lot a dazed
and hardened malefactor who had committed three traffic crimes in three
seconds: he had exceeded the speed limit outrageously, cut fifteen feet
inside the red button, and failed to signal the turn.

"You damned, drunken boob!" shouted the new traffic cop and shook Casey
Ryan (not knowing him).

Shaking Casey will never be safe until he is in his coffin with a lily
in his hand. He was considerably jolted, but he managed a fourth crime
in the next five minutes. He licked the traffic cop rather
thoroughly--I suppose because his onslaught was wholly
unexpected--kicked an expostulating minister in the pit of the stomach,
and was profanely volunteering to lick the whole darned town when he
was finally overwhelmed by numbers and captured alive; which speaks
well for the L. A. P.

Wherefore Casey Ryan continued his ride down town in a dark car that
wears a clamoring bell the size of a breakfast plate under the driver's
foot, and a dark red L. A. Police Patrol sign painted on the sides.
Two uniformed, stern-lipped cops rode with him and didn't seem to care
if Casey's nose WAS bleeding all over his vest. A uniformed cop stood
on the steps behind, and another rode beside the driver and kept his
eye peel