Patty, who was confessedly afraid of thunder storms, shivered, on the verge of nervous hysterics. Finally, at a specially ear-splitting bolt and blinding flash, which were almost simultaneous, she gave a little shriek and pulled the wet laprobe over her head. She crumpled down into a little heap, and, frightened lest she should faint, Pennington put his arm round her and held her in a reassuring clasp.
Daisy Dow was more angry than frightened. She hadn't Patty's fear of the elements, but she greatly objected to the uncomfortable situation in which she found herself.
"Do get home, Bill!" she cried, crossly. "Can't you go any faster?"
The big fellow, in his white shirtsleeves, bent to his wheel. He had worn no hat, and the rain fairly rebounded as it dashed on his thick mat of soaking wet hair.
"Speed her, Bill," went on Daisy, petulantly; "you could go fast enough in the moonlight,—why do you slow down now, when we all want to get home?"
No answer from Farnsworth, who was intently looking and listening.
"Why DO you, Bill?" reiterated the irritating voice, and Farnsworth's never very patient temper gave way.
"Shut up, Daisy!" he cried. "I'm doing the best I can,—but that's all the good it does. We've got to stop. The gasolene is out!"
All of them, accustomed to motors, knew what this meant. Like a flash, each mind flew back to think who was to blame for this. And each realised that it was not the fault of the chauffeur at "Red Chimneys" who had let them take out the car. For, had they not said they were going only for a short spin? And the car had been amply stocked for about two hours. Yes, it must be about two hours since they started, for in their merry mood they had had no thought of time, and had gone far, far inland.
"We can't stop," shrieked Daisy, "in this storm! No house or shelter near! Bill Farnsworth, I'll NEVER forgive you for bringing me into this pickle!"