After the first stunned interval, a shout of laughter went up from those behind.  “Good!  Good idea!” one approved.  And another, having some familiarity with the mechanics of screen melodrama, shouted, “Camera!”

“Lone bandit nothing!  We’re all mysterious auto bandits out seeking whom we may devour!” cried a young man with a naturally attractive face and beautiful teeth, hastily folding his handkerchief cornerwise for a mask, and tying it behind his head—­to the great discomfort of his neighbors, who complained bitterly at having their eyes jabbed out with his elbows.

The bandit play caught the crowd.  For a few tumultuous minutes elbows were up, mufflers and handkerchiefs flapping.  There emerged from the confusion six masked bandits, and three of them flourished six-shooters with a recklessness that would have given a Texas man cold chills down his spine.  Jack, not daring to take his eyes off the heaving asphalt, or his hands off the wheel, retained his natural appearance until some generous soul behind him proceeded, in spite of his impatient “Cut it out, fellows!” to confiscate his flapping, red tie and bind it across his nose; which transformed Jack Corey into a speeding fiend, if looks meant anything.  Thereafter they threw themselves back upon the suffering upholstery and commented gleefully upon their banditish qualifications.

That grew tame, of course.  They thirsted for mock horrors, and two glaring moons rising swiftly over a hill gave the psychological fillip to their imaginations.

“Come on-let’s hold ’em up!” cried the young man on the front seat.  “Naw-I’ll tell you!  Slow down, Jack, and everybody keep your faces shut.  When we’re just past I’ll shoot down at the ground by a hind wheel.  Make ’em think they’ve got a blowout—­get the idea?”

“Some idea!” promptly came approval, and the six subsided immediately.

The coming car neared swiftly, the driver shaving as close to the speed limit as he dared.  Unsuspectingly he swerved to give plenty of space in passing, and as he did so a loud bang startled him.  The brake squealed as he made an emergency stop.  “Blowout, by thunder!” they heard him call to his companions, as he piled out and ran to the wheel he thought had suffered the accident.

Jack obligingly slowed down so that the six, leaning far out and craning back at their victims, got the full benefit of their joke.  When he sped on they fell back into their seats and howled with glee.

It was funny.  They laughed and slapped one another on the backs, and the more they laughed the funnier it seemed.  They rocked with mirth, they bounced up and down on the cushions and whooped.

All but Jack.  He kept his eyes on the still-heaving asphalt, and chewed gum and grinned while he drove, with the persistent sensation that he was driving a hydro-aeroplane across a heaving ocean.  Still, he knew what the fellows were up to, and he was perfectly willing to let them have all the fun they wanted, so long as they didn’t interfere with his driving.