“Very well, get your grass widow by all means,” retorted she with much wasted dignity.
“She's a swell cook, and a fine housekeeper, and shell keep yuh from getting lonesome. She's good company, the Countess is.” He grinned when he said it “I'll have Chip ketch up the creams, and you get ready and go along with us. It'll give you a chance to size up the kind uh neighbors yuh got.”
There was real pleasure in driving swiftly over the prairie land, through the sweet, spring sunshine, and Miss Whitmore tingled with enthusiasm till they drove headlong into a deep coulee which sheltered the Denson family.
“This road is positively dangerous!” she exclaimed when they reached a particularly steep place and Chip threw all his weight upon the brake.
“We'll get the Countess in beside yuh, coming back, and then yuh won't rattle around in the seat so much. She's good and solid—just hang onto her and you'll be all right,” said J. G.
“If I don't like her looks—and I know I won't—I'll get into the front seat and you can hang onto her yourself, Mr. J. G. Whitmore.”
Chip, who had been silent till now, glanced briefly over his shoulder.
“It's a cinch you'll take the front seat,” he remarked, laconically.
“J. G., if you hire a woman like that—”
“Like what? Doggone it, it takes a woman to jump at conclusions! The Countess is all right. She talks some—”