"The judge will probably remember you; I do, and my memory ain't the best in the world.

Twice you've been hooked for speeding through traffic; and parking by fire-plugs and in front of the No Park signs and after four, seems to be your big outdoor sport.
Forfeit your bail, old boy--or it's thirty days for you, sure." Casey Ryan made bitter retort, but the traffic cop had gone to untangle two furious Fords from a horse-drawn mail wagon, so he did not hear.
Which was good luck for Casey.
"Why do you persist in making trouble for yourself ?" the Little Woman beside him exclaimed.

"It can't be so hard to obey the rules; other drivers do.

I know that I have driven this car all over town without any trouble whatever." Casey hogged the next safety-zone line to the deep disgust of a young movie star in a cream-and-silver racer, and pulled in to the curb just where he could not be passed.
"All right, ma'am.

You can drive, then." He slid out of the driver's seat to the pavement, his face a deeper shade of red than usual.
"For pity's sake, Casey! Don't be silly," his wife cried sharply, a bit of panic in her voice.
"You was in a hurry to git home," Casey pointed out to her with that mildness of manner which is not mild.