"That's just it. Nobody,—except a—oh, a mysterious force, a—just an impulse, you know."
"Obey it if you like. May I go, too?"
"Well, it's this. Just before we turned that last corner a motor passed us, you know."
"Yes, I saw it. One of Farnsworth's,—with some of the servants in it."
"It was. Patty gives them rides in turn. Now, Winnie the nurse was in, and so it must be her Sunday out. And, of course, Patty is home there with the baby,—she never leaves her if Winnie's away, but still—I feel as if I must go home to look after that child!"
"Is that all? Let's go, then. We can walk back as well as to go on."
"But,—don't laugh, now,—I feel we ought to hurry. Let's take the trolley-car,—it isn't far to the line."
"You sure have got a hunch! But your will is my law. Wish we were near a garage,—I'm not a bit fond of Sunday trolley riding!"
"I'm not either,—but, Phil, you're awful good not to laugh at me."
"Bless your soul, I've no notion of laughing at you! Your presentiment may be the real thing,—for all I know. Anyway, if you want to go home, you're going."