“How dare you slur your own sex so?” demanded Helen.
“Well, look at this case,” her chum observed. “This Mary Marsden had been lost in the storm and killed for all they knew, yet Abby Drake’s first thought was for the woman’s dress.”
“Well, it was a pity about the dress,” Helen remarked, proving that she agreed with Abby Drake and the bulk of womankind—as her twin brother oft and again acclaimed.
Ruth laughed. “And now if we could see poor dear Tommy——”
The car rounded a sharp turn in the highway. The Drake house was perhaps a mile behind. Ahead was a long stretch of rain-drenched road, and Helen instantly cried:
“There he is!”
The figure of Tom Cameron with the empty gasoline can in his hand could scarcely be mistaken, although he was at least a mile in advance. Helen began to punch the horn madly.
“He’ll know that,” Ruth cried. “Yes, he looks back! Won’t he be astonished?”
Tom certainly was amazed. He proceeded to sit down on the can and wait for the cars to overtake him.
“What are you traveling on?” he shouted, when Helen stopped with the engine running just in front of him. “Fairy gasoline?”