Her lungs seemed filled with pure air, and further, she had a whimsical sense that she was breathing the very blue of the sky.
She said this to Mrs. Farrington, and that lady smiled as she answered, “That’s right, Patty; if you feel that way, you are a true motorist. Not everyone does. There are some who only look upon a motor-car as a machine to transport them from one place to another, but to me it is the very fairyland of motion.”
Patty’s eyes shone in sympathy with this idea, but Roger turned around laughingly, and said, “You’d better be careful how you breathe the blue sky, Patty, for there’s a little cloud over there that may stick in your throat.”
Patty looked at the tiny white cloud, and responded, “If you go much faster, Roger, I’m afraid we’ll fly right up there, and run over that poor little cloud.”
“Let’s do it,” said Roger. “There’s no fine for running over a cloud, is there, Dad?”
As he spoke, Roger put on a higher speed, and then they flew so fast that Patty began to be almost frightened. But her fear did not last long, for in a moment the great car gave a kind of a groan, and then a snort, and then a wheeze, and stopped; not suddenly, but with a provokingly determined slowness, that seemed to imply no intention of moving on again. After a moment the great wheels ceased to revolve, and the car stood stubbornly still, while Mr. Farrington and Roger looked at each other, with faces of comical dismay.
“We’re in for it!” said Mr. Farrington, in a resigned tone.
“Then we must get out for it!” said Roger, as he jumped down from his seat, and opened the tool-chest.
Mrs. Farrington groaned. “Now, you see, Patty,” she said, “how the car lives up to its name. I hoped this wouldn’t happen so soon.”