from the asphalt. It didn't look to be of any further use, however, and he tossed it into the gutter.
"He was driving too fast," Loring was saying, "but I shouldn't have gone into the street alone. I told Wattles I'd stay there until he got back."
"Wattles? Is that the man who pushes you around? Well, what's become of him?"
"I don't know." Loring shook his head perplexedly. It wasn't like the faithful Wattles to remain away at such a time. "He went across to the drug store. Perhaps he's over there." Loring nodded across the street.
"I'll see if I can find him." Clif wasn't averse to seeing how the car had fared, and how badly "Poppy's" store had suffered. "I'll pull you up on the sidewalk first, though." He did so, not without difficuty, and started away. "I'll be back in a second," he called. "If I can't find him I'll push you home."
"Thanks, but he's sure to be here soon," answered Loring.
Clif had to push hard to get within viewing distance of the car since by now all Freeburg—at least, all of male Freeburg—had reached the scene. The car's driver and the constable and "Poppy" were in consultation. "Poppy" was calmer, but there was that in his handsome, brigandish countenance which told Clif that he would suffer no financial loss by reason of the accident. Underfoot Sunday papers ruffled, and golden oranges and glistening apples were being salvaged by willing hands. "Poppy's" front and side
