He settled himself more comfortably but the picture of the parade would not depart from his thoughts. Obadiah could not stand ridicule and those laughing faces danced before him. That child argument was unsatisfactory, too. Virginia had appeared quite proud of the load of colored children when he had talked to her. She didn't look the child part, either. To the contrary she seemed quite mature--almost a woman. With a start, he remembered his daughter's age. "Confound it," he muttered, "she is a woman. She should behave as one. She must learn to have some regard for my dignity and to uphold my position in this town." He arose, looked at his watch, and, striding out upon the porch, gazed anxiously down the street. As he watched, there came a distant honk of familiar note and in a few moments his car turned in through the gate. "What made you so late?" roared Obadiah before the machine stopped. Virginia leaped out as the car paused and running up the steps threw her arms about her father. "Oh Daddy," she responded, "I have been so frightened." Laying her head against his arm, she shuddered. "What happened?" Obadiah's voice was cutting, sharp. "We almost killed a man. We broke his legs and ribs and gave him a terrible headache. We had to take him to the hospital where he is suffering dreadfully." "Dat man done knock er big dent in dis yere caah wid his haid," proclaimed Ike. "Ran slap bang into me." At the sound of the chauffeur's well remembered voice, Serena, as a privileged member of the household, returned to the porch. Approaching Virginia who had drawn an arm of her father about herself, the old negress patted the girl reassuringly upon the shoulder and pledged revenge. "Nev' mine, honey chil', nev' mind, ah gwine 'tend to dat fool, Ike, presen'ly." Hurrying to the end of the porch she glared down at the chauffeur as if he were the root of all evil in that vicinity. "Wot you mean er takin' er woman an' 'er fambly in dat caah wid ma honey chil' an' er runnin' ovah er ban' an' er killin' er minst'el man? 'Splain youse'f, boy." Ike was puzzled to identify the victim of his alleged manslaughter under the conditions named. "Wot minst'el man? Ah ain' kill no minst'el man a tall." "Who dat done dent yo'all's caah?" cried the accusing voice. "How ah gwine tell if dat man wot bre'k hisse'f up on ma caah is er minst'el man? Ah ain' ax 'im. Ah ain' kill no man." "Who dat woman an' her fambly you 'vite into dat caah? Wot mar'ied woman is yo'all makin' up to? Wot's de name o' dat frien', wid chillun?" Ike had to suffer much that morning. He writhed under this new inquisition which displayed a tendency to besmirch his reputation. No love light glowed in the porcupine's eyes but hatred, intense and eternal, flashed from them, and he bristled as he made forceful denial. "Dat female sco'pion ain' no frien' o' mine."