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mischief.
    Officer Stockton read aloud, “DOCTOR FREDERICK L. EICHNER,” and copied it onto his pad.
    The Doctor had been holding his coat. Now he slipped it on and adjusted his tie. “I’m at Hauptman Clinic,” he said.
    The other nodded, turning the card several times in his hand. Then, he looked up, and quite suddenly was staring past the Doctor, down the highway where the Delahaye sat off the road. Though the two men were standing half faced away from the damaged side of the car, it could be seen that the car’s wheel alignment was out badly, the body leaning slightly to the left.
    “That your car?” The patrolman squinted and stepped off at once in the direction of the Delahaye. Dr. Eichner immediately fell in closing step behind, but halfway to the Delahaye, Stockton began to trot, so that when the Doctor reached the car, the patrolman had surveyed it once around and was now down, bent over low, looking at the underside. He rose dusting his hands and rested them against his hips. Facing the Doctor before speaking, he jerked his head solemnly at the damaged side of the Delahaye.
    “Your car?”
    Dr. Eichner was slow to reply.
    “Took quite a beating, didn’t it?” he said finally, pretending to examine the damage anew.
    The other eyed him shrewdly, then without moving his body, turned his head and called over his shoulder to the one at the wreck, he having exhausted the extinguisher, simply standing aside now, watching it burn.
    “EDDY! HEY, EDDY!” called Stockton. Eddy came at a brisk gait, his head high in ready interest.
    “Take a look at this,” said Stockton jerking again toward the Delahaye.
    Slowly walking the length of the car, Eddy gave a long low whistle, at the same time scratching his head.
    “You involved in the accident, fellah?” he spoke to Eichner with almost no trace of his former lisp.
    The Doctor regarded him incredulously. “Certainly,” he snapped, “just as I’ve been trying to tell this young man,” looking at Stockton who was busy at the pad. “Now what I want to know,” he went on to Eddy, “is: who reported the accident? Do you have the truck or not?”
    “ Yes or no will do it, Jack,” Stockton said in an off-hand threat from the pad.
    Dr. Eichner wheeled on him. “You listen to me, Officer,” he pointed to the burning sedan, “one man is dead in that sedan, and another in the truck possibly dying, certainly in need of medical attention, the truck I say, which could have been intercepted on Drexel. Now, it seems to me that you two are forgetting just what the nature of your job is: to service and facilitate in these matters—not to impede—and certainly not to play the grand seigneur, nor the dolt. You are public servants, maintained by the public and responsible to the public. And I advise you to keep this in mind.” He ended with a sweep of a shaking finger to include them both, but only Eddy stood impressed, wide-eyed now, while Stockton went on writing and looking up and down the ripped half of the Delahaye.
    “Take it easy, fellah,” said Eddy in real concern. And standing close, he actually stroked the Doctor’s shoulder. “We’re on the job, you don’t have to worry about that, huh, Stock, you tell him.” He smiled a little embarrassedly at his colleague who, whether in feint or truth, was too occupied to take a part. On the pad, Stockton’s pencil made a flourish suggesting that a certain phase of the report was at that point definitely complete.
    “All right, Doctor,” he said to show his readiness, “you just tell us now in your own words how the accident happened.”
    While the two officers leaned against the side of the Delahaye, the one writing and examining the car continuously, the other following the narrative with open wonder, Dr. Eichner stood before them and told exactly what had happened, only omitting the fact of having raced against the red light.
    At the end, the officer, Eddy, was agape, as though still waiting for the