Looks like a bad mess too.  The old plug of a horse is down, kickin’ the stuffin’ out of the harness, and a few feet off is the huckster, huddled up in a heap like a bag of meal.  Course, there’s a cop on the spot.  He pushes in where Dudley is tryin’ to help the wagon driver up, takes one look at the wreck, and then flashes his little notebook.  He puts down our license number, calls for the owner’s name, prods the wagon man without result, tells us we’re all pinched, and steps over to a convenient signal box to ring up an ambulance.  Inside of three minutes we’re the storm center of a small mob, and there’s two other cops lookin’ us over disapprovin’.

“Take ’em all to the station house,” says one, who happens to be a roundsman.

That didn’t listen good to me; so I kind of sidles off from our group.  It just struck me that it might be handy to have someone on the outside lookin’ in.  But at that I got to the station house almost as soon as they did.  The trio was lined up before the desk Sergeant.  Miss Marjorie’s kind of white, but keepin’ a stiff lip over it; while Dudley is holdin’ one hand and pattin’ it comfortin’.

“Well, who was driving?” is the first thing the Sergeant wants to know.

“If you please, Sir,” speaks up Dudley, “I was.”

“Why, Dudley!” says Peggy, openin’ her eyes wide.  “You know——­”

“Hush up!” whispers Brother.

“Sha’nt!” says Marjorie.  “I was driving, Mr. Officer.”

“Rot!” says Dudley.  “Pay no attention to her, Sergeant.”

“Suit yourself,” says the Sergeant.  “I’d just as soon lock up two as one.  Then we’ll be sure.”

“There!  You see!” says Brother.  “You aren’t helping any.  Now keep out, will you?”

“But, Dudley——­” protests Marjorie.

“That’ll do,” says the Sergeant.  “You’ll have plenty of time to talk it over afterwards.  Hospital case, eh?  Then we can’t take bail.  Names, now!”

And it’s while their names are bein’ put on the blotter that I slides out, hunts up a pay station, and gets Mr. Robert on the ’phone.  “Better lug along a good-sized roll,” says I, after I’ve explained the case, “and start a lawyer or two this way.  You’ll need ’em.”

“I will,” says Mr. Robert.  “And you’ll meet me at the station, will you?”

“Later on,” says I.  “I want to try a little sleuthin’ first.”

You see, I’d spotted the faker’s name on the wagon license, and it occurs to me that before any of them damage-suit shysters get to him it would be a good scheme to discover just how bad he was bunged up.  So my bluff is that it’s an uncle of mine that’s been hurt.  By pushin’ it good and hard too, and insistin’ that I’d got to see him, I gets clear into the cot without bein’ held up.  And there’s the victim, snoozin’ peaceful.

“Gee!” says I to the nurse, sniffin’ the atmosphere.  “Had to brace him up with a drink, did you?”