ed over his shoulder, thinking he would be justified in
shooting if anything started inside. Boys on bicycles pedaled
furiously to keep up, and many an automobile barely escaped the curb
because the driver was goggling at the mussed-up prisoner in the "Black
Maria."

The Little Woman telegraphed me at San Francisco that night. The wire
was brief but disquieting. It merely said, "CASEY IN JAIL SERIOUS NEED
HELP." But I caught the Lark an hour later and thanked God it was
running on time.

The Little Woman and I spent two frantic days getting Casey out of
jail. The traffic cop's defeat had been rather public; and just as
soon as he could stand up straight in the pulpit, the minister meant to
preach a series of sermons against the laxity of a police force that
permits such outrages to occur in broad daylight. More than that, the
thing was in the papers, and people were reading and giggling on the
street cars and in restaurants. Wherefore, the L. A. P. was on its tin
ear.

Even so, much may be accomplished for a man so wholesomely human as
Casey Ryan. On the third day the charge against him was changed from
something worse to "Reckless driving and disturbing the peace." Casey
was persuaded to plead guilty to that charge, which was harder to
accomplish than mollifying the L. A. P.

He paid two fifty-dollar fines and was forbidden to drive a car "in the
County of Los Angeles, State of California, during the next succeeding
period of two years." He was further advised (unofficially but
nevertheless with complete sincerity) to pay all damages to the two
cars he had wrecked and to ask the minister's doctor what was his fee;
a new uniform for the traffic cop was also suggested, since Casey had
thrust his foot violently into the cop's pocket which was not tailored
to resist the strain. The judge also observed, in the course of the
conversation, that desert air was peculiarly invigorating and that
Casey should not jeopardize his health and well-being by filling his
lungs with city smoke.

I couldn't blame Casey much for the mood he was in after a setback like
that to his good resolutions. I was inclined to believe with Casey
that Providence had lain down on the job.

CHAPTER NINE

At the corner of the Plaza where traffic is heaviest, a dingy Ford
loaded with camp outfit stalled on the street-car track just as the
traffic officer spread-eagled his arms and turned with majestic
deliberation to let the East-and