in command of the situation. Tom stopped writhing and considered events with a fair degree of calmness.
The car, a good one although of ancient vintage, after negotiating the streets of the town at moderate speed, was now on a straight hard road, and the engine's voice arose to a louder song. Wattles, who had removed his overcoat before meeting Tom—it was a newish coat, and he wanted nothing unfortunate to happen to it in case Tom proved obstinate—shivered as, sitting sidewise on Tom's legs, he strove to keep his balance, and at the same time protect himself from the rush of the cold night wind. It was a most uncomfortable position, but Wattles was game. With Wattles duty was duty, and he was prepared to sit like that all the way back to Freeburg if necessary.
But it wasn't necessary. Some ten minutes after they had left the station there was a series of muffled sounds from under the robe and Wattles, leaning nearer, said: "Pardon, Mister Tom. Will you say that again, please, sir?"
"I said if you don't take this pesky thing off I'll smother!" answered Tom through the folds.
"Yes, sir, I'm afraid it's rather uncomfortable, and I'm sure you'll understand, sir, how much I deplore the necessity of the—the methods—"
"I can't hear what you're saying!" shouted Tom in exasperation. "Take this off me! Let me out!"
"Certainly, sir, only, asking your pardon, Mister Tom, I must have your agreement not to leave the car."
