With unusual energy he wormed
his way through the crowd that surrounded the policeman and approached
the side of the automobile.
"Lady, lady," he cried, "I don't remember your name, but I'm a friend of
Max Tuchman here, and I'll get you out of this here crowd in a minute."
He opened the door opposite to the side out of which Tuchman had made
his enforced exit, and offered his hand to Max's trembling companion.
The lady hesitated a brief moment. Any port in a storm, she argued to
herself, and a moment later she was seated beside Morris in the latter's
car, which was moving up the Avenue at a good twenty-mile gait. The
chauffeur took advantage of the traffic policeman's professional
engagement with Max Tuchman, and it was not until the next mounted
officer hove into view that he brought his car down to its lawful gait.
"If you're a friend of Mr. Tuchman's," said the lady at length, "why
didn't you go with him to the police station and bail him out?"
Morris grinned. "I guess you'll know when I tell it you that my name is
Mr. Perlmutter," he announced, "of Potash & Perlmutter."
The lady turned around and glanced uneasily at Morris. "Is that so?"
she said. "Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Perlmutter."
"So, naturally, I don't feel so bad as I might about it," Morris
went on.
"Naturally?" the lady commented. She looked about her apprehensively.
"Perhaps we'd better go back to the Prince William. Don't you think so?"
"Why, you was going up to the Heatherbloom Inn with Max Tuchman, wasn't
you?" Morris said.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189