“Tell that to the J. P.” At that moment the second constable reached them, and sprang on the running-board on Janet’s side of the car. “Start her up again, and come into Hyattsville,” directed the motor cyclist, and making the best of a bad job, Tom sulkily obeyed the order. Janet, her eyes wide with excitement, sat quietly by his side. Pretending to tuck the laprobe more securely about her, he whispered in her ear: “If they ask who you are, don’t give your real name.” “I understand,” she muttered, and remained passive until the car, passing the lowered rope, reached its destination, escorted by the two constables. They bade Tom and Janet accompany them into the presence of the Justice of the Peace. Mr. Lenox, the gray-haired justice, heard the evidence against them in ominous silence. “What is your name, miss?” he inquired sternly. “Marjorie Langdon,” answered Janet readily, and Tom gave her an approving glance. “Your residence?” Janet told him, and the Justice turned to Tom. “Name?” he snapped. “Thomas Langdon Nichols, Captain --th Field Artillery, stationed at Fort Myer, Va.” “Any relation of Miss Langdon?” “Her cousin,” steadily. The Justice laid down his pen. “Fifty dollars,” he announced, holding out his hand. “Fifty dollars fine!” fumed Tom. “That’s perfectly ridiculous.” “Nothing of the sort,” retorted the Justice. “I recognize you, young man; this is the third time you’ve been arrested speeding on the State Road....” “I haven’t; you’re mixing me up with someone else....” “That game won’t work,” the Justice shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. “Your name’s entered on the records; you’ve been warned and fined for small sums, already. This joy-riding has got to stop.” “I don’t joy-ride,” thundered Tom, catching Janet’s amused smile. “I admit I’ve made good time on several business trips to Baltimore....” “Very thoughtful of you,” commented the Justice ironically. “Fifty dollars, please.” “Dash it all! I haven’t that amount with me,” pulling out his wallet he counted the bank notes in it. “Here’s eighteen dollars,” he laid the money on the desk, and searched his pockets carefully, finally producing some small change. “This makes twenty-one fifty,” stacking the silver in a neat pile on top of the bank notes. “You’ll have to take that, and let me bring back the rest tomorrow.” “Fifty dollars or jail!” and the Justice sat back and regarded the raging officer with provoking calmness. “Will you take a check for the balance?” demanded Tom, as soon as he could control his speech. “Depends on your bank.” Without replying, Tom went slowly through his pockets, but he had left his check-book on his desk at his quarters, and his search was a waste of time. “Let me have a blank check on the American Security and Trust Company?” he pleaded. “Haven’t one,” answered the Justice curtly, and forestalled further requests by adding, “Haven’t a check on any bank but a Baltimore trust company; guess you can’t draw on that, young man.”