Once or twice when in his car, Death had reached for Winthrop, and only by the scantiest grace had he escaped.  Then the nearness of it had only sobered him.  Now that he believed he had brought it to a fellow man, even though he knew he was in no degree to blame, the thought sickened and shocked him.  His brain trembled with remorse and horror.

But voices assailing him on every side brought him to the necessity of the moment.  Men were pressing close upon him, jostling, abusing him, shaking fists in his face.  Another crowd of men, as though fearing the car would escape of its own volition, were clinging to the steps and running boards.

Winthrop saw Miss Forbes standing above them, talking eagerly to Peabody, and pointing at him.  He heard children’s shrill voices calling to new arrivals that an automobile had killed a man; that it had killed him on purpose.  On the outer edge of the crowd men shouted:  “Ah, soak him,” “Kill him,” “Lynch him.”

A soiled giant without a collar stooped over the purple, blood-stained face, and then leaped upright, and shouted:  “It’s Jerry Gaylor, he’s killed old man Gaylor.”

The response was instant.  Every one seemed to know Jerry Gaylor.

Winthrop took the soiled person by the arm.

“You help me lift him into my car,” he ordered.  “Take him by the shoulders.  We must get him to a hospital.”

“To a hospital?  To the Morgue!” roared the man.  “And the police station for yours.  You don’t do no get-away.”

Winthrop answered him by turning to the crowd.  “If this man has any friends here, they’ll please help me put him in my car, and we’ll take him to Roosevelt Hospital.”

The soiled person shoved a fist and a bad cigar under Winthrop’s nose.

“Has he got any friends?” he mocked.  “Sure, he’s got friends, and they’ll fix you, all right.”

“Sure!” echoed the crowd.

The man was encouraged.

“Don’t you go away thinking you can come up here with your buzz wagon and murder better men nor you’ll ever be and——­”

“Oh, shut up!” said Winthrop.

He turned his back on the soiled man, and again appealed to the crowd.

“Don’t stand there doing nothing,” he commanded.  “Do you want this man to die?  Some of you ring for an ambulance and get a policeman, or tell me where is the nearest drug store.”

No one moved, but every one shouted to every one else to do as Winthrop suggested.

Winthrop felt something pulling at his sleeve, and turning, found Peabody at his shoulder peering fearfully at the figure in the street.  He had drawn his cap over his eyes and hidden the lower part of his face in the high collar of his motor coat.  “I can’t do anything, can I?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” whispered Winthrop.  “Go back to the car and don’t leave Beatrice.  I’ll attend to this.”

“That’s what I thought,” whispered Peabody eagerly.  “I thought she and I had better keep out of it.”