It's No Fable, Either, Even if Story Is Told That Way

It came to pass that Charles G. Krotz got himself a job as police magistrate of the village of Broadview, a collection of a few houses strung along a beautiful highway -- that part of West Twelfth street between the Des Plaines River and the Belt railroad. He made Eddie Krotz, his brother motorcycle policeman. He made Joe Huszar motorcycle policeman too, not because he was: in the family, but because he had a motorcycle.

And his father, Herman Krotz, was deputy sheriff and poundmaster, so the family had a strangle hold on the village.

They worked out the system this way: to wit: When a driver of an automobile came upon their stretch of beautiful highway he simply could not refrain from "stepping on her."' Her, the automobile, usually jumped ahead. Then the motorcycle policemen would pounce upon the driver and take him to the town hall, that looked like a cheese box set on the prairie.

There the judge would fine the driver whatever he appeared to have. Sometimes it would be five dollars and sometimes ten dollars, and once it was fifty dollars.

And with each fine there was appended costs, five dollars and more. Of the fine the magistrate didn't get anything. But the motorcycle policeman got twenty-five per cent.. The rest went to the village fund for road repair.

The costs represented the gravy. Motorcycle policeman, in addition to his percentage crew one dollar and a half out of every cost appendage. Magistrate got the other four. At times on Sundays and on holidays the magistrate and his policemen would have regular field days, and competitive drills would be held among the policemen to see who could catch the most-

And so the magistrate and the policemen of Broadview waxed exceedingly fat and wealthy and nobody could say them nay because they represented the law.

Moral -- the going may be smooth on West Twelfth street in the rural districts, but stepping on the gas brings joy only to the Krotzes.