"And women and Fords," he interrupted.
She laughed and led the way into a little trail that snaked on up the hill between lilacs and buckeye trees to a little cabin half-hidden in the foliage.
They dismounted at the door and loosed their horses. Jessamy tapped vigorously on the panels. Again and again—and then there was heard a shuffling, unsteady step inside, and a cane thumped hollowly. Presently the door opened, and Old Dad Sloan bleared out at them from behind his flaring, mattress-stuffing hair and whiskers.
"How do you do, Mr. Sloan!" cried Jessamy almost at the top of her voice.
A veined hand shook its way to form a cup behind the ancient's ear.
"Hey?" he squealed.
Jessamy filled her sturdy lungs with air and tried again.
"I say—How do you do!" The effort left her neck red but for a blue outstanding artery.
"Oh!" exclaimed Dad Sloan, with a look of relief. "Why, howdy?"
Jessamy ascended a step to the door, took him by both shoulders, and placed her satin lips close to the ear that he inclined her way.