"Yes," defiantly, "I would, and I'm ashamed of myself. I'm a throw-back

to my horrid ancestor, the betting hostler."

"Probably. I'm a throw-back to my ancestor the judge. I'll train you to

meet my fine friends."

"Well--upon--my--word--I---- Oh, do stop being idiotic. We talk like

children. You reduce me to the rank of a gibbering schoolgirl. And I

like it! It's so--oh, I don't know--so darn human, I suppose. Now

hurry--kiss me, and get out, before they suspect."

"Listen."

"Yes?"

"I'll accidentally meet your car along the road. Invite you to ride. All

right?"

"Yes. Do. Oh, we are two forlorn babes in the woods! G'-by."

She sauntered back to the picnic, and observed, "What is that purple

flower up on the mountain side?"

The big car was sedately purring back when it was insulted by an

intermediate host of a machine that came jumping out of a side road. The

vulgar driver hailed them with uncouth howling. The Gilsons' chauffeur

stopped, annoyed.

"Why, hello folks," bawled the social bandit.

"Oh. How do you do," refuted Mrs. Gilson.

Jeff Saxton turned a ripe purple.

"How do you like my new bug, Claire? Awful little object. But I can make

fifty an hour. Come and try it, Claire, can't you?"

"Why----" Claire was obviously shocked by the impropriety of the

suggestion. She looked at Mrs. Gilson, who was breathing as though she

was just going under the ether. Claire said doubtfully, "Well---- If you

can get me right back to the house----"

"Sure," agreed Milt.

When the Loco was gone, Milt drove the bug to the side of the road,

yanked up the emergency brake, and carefully kissed the girl who was

snuggled down into the absurd low tin-sided seat.

"Do we have to get back soon?" he begged.

"Oh, I don't care if we never get back. Let's shoot up into the

mountains. Side road. Let's pretend we're driving across the continent

again."

Firs dashing by--rocks in the sunshine--clouds jaunty beyond the

inviting mouth of a mountain pass--even the ruts and bumps and

culverts--she seemed a part of them all. In the Gilsons' huge cars she

had been shut off from the road, but in this tiny bug, so close to

earth, she recovered the feeling of struggle, of triumph over

difficulties, of freedom unbounded. And she could be herself, good or

bad, ignorant or wise, with this boy beside her. All of which she

expressed in the most eloquent speech she had ever uttered, namely: "Oh, Milt----!"

And, to herself, "Golly, it's such a relief not to have to try to be

gracious and aphoristic and repartistic and everything with Jeff."

And, "But I wonder if I am aphoristic and subtle? I wonder if when she

gets the rice-powder off, Claire isn't a lot more like Milt than she

thought?"




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