Two minutes before it would have been difficult to count a dozen persons on the whole length of Oak Street. Now thrice that many were gathered about the scene of the accident and every instant saw the number increase. Clif’s gaze dropped to Loring Deane. The latter was looking up at him questioningly. His face was pale, but he was smiling bravely enough. “What happened?” he asked. “Plenty,” answered Clif grimly. He swung the chair around so that its occupant could see for himself. The driver of the badly damaged car had alighted, but in the rear seat two frightened women were staring strainedly about them. The town constable, stiffly attired for church, had arrived, and his thin, indignantly high-pitched voice was to be heard above the excited chatter of the throng. “You was goin’ too fast! I seen you! You was goin’ too fast!” “I’m very sorry,” said Loring. “It was my fault.” “No, it wasn’t,” Clif protested. “That man came around the corner at twenty miles an hour, easy. He was hitting thirty until he started to turn! It’s a wonder he didn’t get you, Deane. He’s smashed the handles clean off.” Clif retrieved the broken part from the asphalt. It didn’t look to be of any further use, however, and he tossed it into the gutter. “He was driving too fast,” Loring was saying, “but I shouldn’t have gone into the street alone. I told Wattles I’d stay there until he got back.” “Wattles? Is that the man who pushes you around? Well, what’s become of him?” “I don’t know.” Loring shook his head perplexedly. It wasn’t like the faithful Wattles to remain away at such a time. “He went across to the drug store. Perhaps he’s over there.” Loring nodded across the street. “I’ll see if I can find him.” Clif wasn’t averse to seeing how the car had fared, and how badly “Poppy’s” store had suffered. “I’ll pull you up on the sidewalk first, though.” He did so, not without difficulty, and started away. “I’ll be back in a second,” he called. “If I can’t find him I’ll push you home.” “Thanks, but he’s sure to be here soon,” answered Loring.