In the streaming level rays of a late April afternoon a rakish-looking gray roadster turned into Old Mill Lane and worked its way carefully among the gossiping women, the baby-carriages, an old wagon or two with a shabby horse drowsing between the shafts, running children, and all the disorder of a small and congested thoroughfare into which a populace, long rain-bound, has turned itself for the first taste of real summer warmth.