He thought it would be a fine
thing to get the flapper and go and be just perfectly married. Then he
could send a telegram to the office, telling them he could imagine
nothing of less consequence, and that they might all go to the devil. It
was easy to be "snappy" in a telegram. But he remembered that the
flapper just perfectly wished to manage it herself; probably she
wouldn't like his taking a hand in the game. Better not be rough with
the child at the start.
They were miles away. The person in the taxi-cab might have been observed
searching his pockets curiously, and to be counting what money he found
therein as he cast anxious glances toward the dial of the taxi-metre.
Bean surveyed the landscape approvingly. Anyway, it was a fine enough
performance to keep them waiting there. They would all be enraged.
Perhaps the old one would have his stroke before the arrival of the
spectator to whom it would give the most pleasure. They might be taking
him out to the ambulance, and all the other directors would stand there
and say, "This is _your_ work. Officer, do your duty!" Well, it would be
worth it. He'd tell them so, too!
Looking ahead, he became aware that an electric car had suffered an
accident. The passengers streamed out and gathered around the motorman
who was peering under the car. As Paul slowed down and turned aside to
pass, the motorman declared, "She's burned out. Have to wait for the
next car to push us.
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