rned to 'em. Git behind the wheel, ma'am--Casey Ryan's drove the last
inch he'll ever drive in this darned town. If they pinch me again,
it'll have to be fer walkin'."

The Little Woman looked at him, pressed her lips together and moved
behind the wheel. She did not say a word all the way out to the white
apartment house on Vermont which held the four rooms they called home.
She parked the car dexterously in front and led the way to their
apartment (ground floor, front) before she looked at me.

"It's coming to a show-down, Jack," she said then with a faint smile.
"He's on probation already for disobeying traffic rules of one sort and
other, and his fines cost more than the entire upkeep of the car. I
think he really will have to go to jail this time. It just isn't in
Casey Ryan to take orders from any one, especially when his own
personal habits of driving a car are concerned."

"Town life is getting on his nerves," I tried to defend Casey, and at
the same time to comfort the Little Woman. "I didn't think it would
work, his coming here to live, with nothing to do but spend money.
This is the inevitable result of too much money and too much leisure."

"It sounds much better, putting it that way," murmured Mrs. Casey. "I
think you're right--though he did behave back there as if it were too
much matrimony. Jack, he's been looking forward to your visit. I'm
sorry this has happened to spoil it."

"It isn't spoiled," I grinned. "Casey Ryan is, always and ever shall be
Casey Ryan. He's running true to form, though tamer than one would
expect. When do you think he'll show up?"

Mrs. Casey did not know. She ventured a guess or two, but there was no
conviction in her tone. With two nominal arrests in five minutes
chalked against him, and with his first rebellion against the Little
Woman to rankle in his conscience and memory, she owned herself at a
loss.

With a cheerfulness that was only conversation deep, we waited for
Casey and finally ate supper without him. The evening was enlivened
somewhat by Babe's chatter of kindergarten doings; and was punctuated
by certain pauses while steps on the sidewalk passed on or ended with
the closing of another door than the Ryans'. I fought the impulse to
call up the police station, and I caught the eyes of the Little Woman
straying unconsciously to the telephone in the hall while she talked of
things remote from our inner thoughts. Margaret Ryan is game, I'll say
that.