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HOLLYWOOD SHORTS
cheerfully repeating, "OF boy, ol' boy, oP boy," which, relative to nothing, even Einstein could not interpret.
The car started with a jerk. Cries from Bill caused Nick to kill the motor.
"Ed, what's Bill yellin' about back there? What's he sayin'? Maybe it's important."
"He says you drr-ive."
"Sure I'll drive. Fast too, Bill. I'll step on it an' get you there in nothin' at all."
The thought of another ticket brought forth wild grunts from Bill, who could vision nothing but a judge and an electric chair.
"Oh, drive slow. I sure will, Bill. It's your party. Anythin' yuh want. I'll put 'er in low gear an' keep it there all the way if it hurts your head to go fast."
Gears ground, the car started easily. The extremely slow speed impressed the traffic officer at the corner. Ed's position, hugging Bill, and the cockeyed look in Nick's face caused him to assume that it was a pacing-car for an oncoming funeral. He whistled, stopping the traffic each way.
The car passed the intersection in that honorable respect extended to mourners.
Seven days later, Bill Splivin emerged from the cure, a new man in body and soul. He had fought a hard fight and had won. He would never touch liquor again. Now he could rush to Mamie, tell her how right she was, and claim her as his reward.
Jumping into his car like a juvenile, he sped down the boulevard toward the house of his desire.
With a firm hand, he stopped the car in front of Mamie's
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