Oh, there was no changing the ways of Rankin.
I think it was about the middle of May when my general discontent with life in the old burgh took a virulent form.

I'd been losing a lot one way and another, and Barney and I had come together literally and with much force when we were having a spurt with our cars out toward Ingleside.

The Yellow Peril looked pretty sick when I picked myself out of the mess and found I wasn't hurt except in my feelings.

Barney's car only had the lamps smashed, and as he had run into me, that made me sore.

We said things, and I caught a street-car back to town.