The traffic chief said that before he could examine me for a license I must show him my registration card from a regular police commissioner. I had been told I ought to have one of those darn things, but had passed it up. Now I was face to face with the necessity of acquiring the card and doing it quick. The nearest station was only a few blocks away. I found it jampacked with people who looked as if they all worked in East St. Louis. I flagged an attendant.

“I want to register,” I told him.

“You’ll be called when it’s your turn,” he said, and gave me a number. It was 89,041.

“How long will I have to wait?”

He pondered.

“I think they’re now in the twenty-thousands,” he said.