than a horse-drawn carriage.”

“Governor,” said Nathan P. Wiggin, “politeness forbids me to tell you jest what I think of that statement. Besides, I’ve got my coat on.”

“If you’re too prejudiced,” said the governor, “get into this car with me, and you shall have a demonstration.” Just how this invitation would have been received at that moment cannot be said. Through the crowd came a panting, freckled, red-headed young man, flinging people aside with his long arms.

“Hey, Jedge Wiggin!” he called chokingly. “Bessie’s gone crazy! Come home quick!”

“Whut’s that, Lem Dodd?” cried the judge, snapping round and grabbing the young man by the shoulder. “My darter—gone crazy? What d’ye mean?”

“Jest whut I say,” insisted Lem Dodd chokingly. “She brung a strange young feller inter the house, and he’s got a crack on his cabeza, and he keeled over on the parlor sofy, and he looked like he was a goner, with his eyes shet, and she hollered and flopped on her knees beside him, and called him ‘Reginal’ and ‘dear,’ and called herself a murderer, and kissed him right slap on the kisser.” He caught his breath with a gulping sound of distress. “And when Miss Sally asked her who he was, she said she didn’t know, and he don’t b’long round these parts, for I never see him before, and she’s crazy as a June bug or she’d never do no such thing.”

“This,” said the judge, “is a case for immejiate investigation. Under the circumstances, governor, we’ll have to postpone that demonstration till some future date.”

Then he set off for his home, a short distance up the street, accompanied by the agitated and urgent Lemuel Dodd.

 CHAPTER VIIA NOVICE AT THE WHEEL. 

CHAPTER VII

The governor and Hitchens made inquiry of the crowd regarding their missing driver, but no one present seemed to have seen the man. Presently the governor turned to his secretary.

“You don’t imagine,” he asked in a low tone, “that the young man who is injured in Judge Wiggin’s house can be George?”

“The girl called him Reginald, according to that fellow who brought word to the judge.”

“Still, I’ve got a queer notion that it may be the boy. Let’s investigate.” When they reached Wiggin’s front door, George, a bandage tied round his head, was just 

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