The woman screamed and choked some more, so Grace grasped her by the collar of her blouse and began swimming toward shore with her. They had not gone more than half of the way, when doughboys who had witnessed the accident plunged into the river and went to the rescue. Grace turned over her burden to them quite willingly, but waved the soldiers aside when they offered to assist her. The men had their hands full in getting the supervisor ashore, where they laid her down on the bank and shook her until she was able to sit up. “Please wring the water out of me, Grace,” begged the disheveled J. Elfreda Briggs, who was shivering. “That will not help any. Keep moving, is my advice. Were you hurt, Elfreda?” “My feelings were very much hurt. Grace Harlowe, you are the original trouble-maker. I blame myself wholly in this matter, not you at all, for I should have known better than to remain in that car for an instant after I saw that look in your eyes. It was a perfectly safe intimation that something terrible was about to occur.” “There’s the lieutenant talking with Mrs. Smythe. I must see what she has to say.” “Probably recommending you for the Congressional Medal,” observed Miss Briggs sourly. Mrs. Smythe was sitting on the bank wringing the water out of her blouse when Grace came up, the lieutenant standing by and apparently not knowing what he should do in the circumstances. The supervisor’s hair was down over her shoulders and she was half crying, half raging. Grace was filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smythe,” she said, bending over the supervisor. “May I assist you to your feet? You must not sit here, you know. The ground is cold and you are very wet.” Mrs. Chadsey Smythe blinked at the Overton girl and struggled for words. The words finally came, a torrent of them. “She did it!” screamed the woman. “She did it on purpose! She set out to mur--” “Mrs. Smythe, you know better than that,” rebuked Grace. “Arrest that woman!” commanded Mrs. Smythe. “Well, I--I don’t know about that. Do you wish to make a charge against her, Madame?” “Of course. She threw me into the river.” “But,” protested the officer, “she did no more to you than she did to herself and the others in the car. Of course you may make a complaint to the captain, or to your superior whoever he or she may be, but I do not think this woman can be arrested, because the wreck plainly was an accident.” “It was not! I tell you she did it on purpose!” The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders. “I will inform my superior, Captain Rowland,” answered the lieutenant gravely. “You are--” “Mrs. Chadsey Smythe, in command of the welfare workers.” The officer turned to Grace inquiringly. “Mrs. Grace Gray, former ambulance driver on the western front, now a welfare worker on the march to the Rhine, sir,” answered Grace meekly, out of the corners of her eyes observing that the lieutenant was passing a hand over his face, to hide the grin that had appeared there.