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Page 2
Automobiles loaded with singing passengers scurried after their own
beams of silver light down the boulevards. At first a continuous line
of speeding cars; then thinning with long gaps between; then longer
gaps with only an occasional car; then the quiet, lasting for minutes
unbroken, so that the wind could be heard in the eucalyptus trees that
here and there lined the boulevard.
After the last street-car had clanged away from the deserted
bunting-draped joy zone that now was stark and joyless, a belated
seven-passenger car, painted a rich plum color and splendid in
upholstering and silver trim, swept a long row of darkened windows
with a brush of light as it swung out from a narrow alley and went
purring down to where the asphalt shone black in the night.
Full throated laughter and a medley of shouted jibes and
current witticisms went with it. The tonneau squirmed with uproarious
youth. The revolving extra seats swung erratically, propelled by
energetic hands, while some one barked the stereotyped invitation to
the deserted scenic swing, and some one else shouted to the revolving
occupants to keep their heads level, and all the others laughed
foolishly.
The revolving ones rebelled, and in the scuffle some one lurched
forward against the driver at a critical turn in the road, throwing
him against the wheel. The big car swerved almost into the ditch, was
brought back just in the nick of time and sped on, while Death, who
had looked into that tonneau, turned away with a shrug.
The driver, bareheaded and with the wind blowing his thick mop of wavy
hair straight back from his forehead, glanced back with swift disfavor
at the scuffling bunch.
"Hey--you want to go in the ditch?" he expostulated, chewing
vigorously upon gum that still tasted sweet and full-flavored. "You
wanta cut out that rough stuff over this way!"
"_All_ right, Jackie, old boy, anything to please!" chanted the
offender, cuffing the cap off the fellow next him. "Some time," he
added with vague relish. "S-o-m-e time! What?"
"Some time is right!" came the exuberant chorus. "Hey, Jack! _u_ had
some time, all right--you and that brown-eyed queen that danced like
Mrs. Castle. Um-um! Floatin' round with your arms full of
sunshine--oh, you thought you was puttin' something over on the rest
of us--what?"
"Cut it out!" Jack retorted, flinging the words over his shoulder.
"Don't talk to me. Road's flopping around like a snake with its head
cut off--" He laughed apologetically, his eyes staring straight ahead
over the lowered windshield.
"Aw, step on her, Jack! Show some class, boy--show some class! Good
old boat! If you're too stewed to drive 'er, _e_ knows the way home.
Say, Jackie, if this old car could talk, wouldn't momma get an
ear-full on Monday, hey? What if she--"
"Cut it _out_--or I'll throw you out!" came back over Jack's
shirt-clad shoulder. He at least had the wit to use what little sense
he had in driving the car, and he had plenty of reason to believe that
he could carry out his threat, even if the boulevard did heave itself
up at him like the writhings of a great snake. If his head was not fit
for the job, his trained muscles would still drive with automatic
precision. Only his vision was clouded; not the mechanical skill
necessary to pilot his mother's big car safely into the garage.
Whim held the five in the rear seats absorbed in their own maudlin
comicalities. The fellow beside Jack did not seem to take any interest
in his surroundings, and the five gave the front seat no further
attention. Jack drove circumspectly, leaning a little forward, his
bare arms laid up across the wheel and grasping the top of it. Brown
as bronze, those arms, as were his face and neck and chest down to
where the open V of his sport shirt was held closed with the loose
knot of a crimson tie that whipped his shoulder as he drove. A fine
looking fellow he was, sitting there like the incarnation of strength
and youth and fullblooded optimism. It was a pity that he was
drunk--he would have been a perfect specimen of young manhood, else.
The young man on the front seat beside him turned suddenly on those
behind. The lower half of his face was covered with a black muffler.
He had a gun, and he "cut down" on the group with disconcerting
realism.
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