“You’re not to do any such thing,” called out Miss Dolly. “You’re to go where _I_ tell you.” “You’re to do nothing of the sort,” said Bob. “You’re to go where _I_ tell you.” The driver scratched his head. “Which is it to be?” asked Bob. “This is the place to have an understanding.” “The lady hired me,” he answered. “Yes, and I won’t pay you at all, if you don’t mind,” said Miss Dolly in firm musical accents. “Guess that settles it,” observed the driver. “You mean—?” began Bob, eying him. “It means I obey orders. She’s my ‘fare,’ not you. We just picked you up.” “And that’s your last word?” Ominously. “Say, lady”—the driver turned wearily—“have I got to suppress this crazy man you got out of the bughouse?” “Maybe that would be a good plan,” answered Miss Dolly, militancy now in her tone. “That is, if he doesn’t get in, just sweet and quiet-like.” “It’ll be twenty dollars extra,” said the man, rising. He was a big fellow, too. “Make it thirty,” returned Miss Dolly spiritedly. It was an issue and had to be met. There was an accent of “On-to-Parliament!” in her voice. One can’t show too much mercy to a “slave” when he revolts. One has to suppress him. One has to teach him who is mistress. A stern lesson, and the slave learns and knows his place. “Now mind the lady and get back where you belong,” said the driver roughly to Bob. “Your tiles are loose, and the lady knows what is good for a dingbat like you.” Possibly he thought the display of a little authority would be quite sufficient to intimidate a recent “patient.” They usually became quite mild, he had heard, when the keepers talked right up to them, like that. The effect of his language and attitude upon Bob was not, however, quieting; something seemed to explode in his brain and he made one spring and got a football hold; then he heaved and the big man shot over his shoulder as if propelled from a catapult. He came down in a ditch, where the breath seemed to be knocked out of him. Bob got on in front. As he started the machine, the man sat up and looked after him. He didn’t try to get up though; he just looked. No doubt he had had the surprise of his life. “I’ll leave the car in the village when I’m through with it,” Bob called back. “A little walk won’t hurt you.” The man didn’t answer. “Gee! but that’s a powerful lunatic for a poor young lady to have on her hands!” he said to himself. An hour or so later Bob drew up in front of Mrs. Ralston’s house. He opened the door politely for Miss Dolly and the temperamental young thing sprang out. The guests were still up, indulging in one of those late dances that begin at the stroke of twelve, and the big house showed lights everywhere. There were numerous other taxis and cars in front and Bob’s arrival attracted no particular attention. Miss Dolly gave him a look, militant, but still adoring. She let him see she had claws. “Maybe I’ll tell,” she said. “Go ahead,” he answered. “Aren’t you afraid?”