On they went, leaving the miles behind them, and as Roger was anxious to make up for lost time he went at a slightly higher speed than he would have otherwise done. He slowed down, however, when they passed horses or when they went through towns or villages.
Patty was greatly interested in the many small villages through which they rode, as nearly every one showed quaint or humorous scenes. Dogs would come out and bark at them, children would scream after them, and even the grown-up citizens of the hamlets would stare at them as if they had never seen a motor-car before, though Patty reasoned that surely many of them must have travelled that same road.
“When you meet another village, Roger,” she said, “do go through it more slowly, for I like to see the funny people.”
“Very well,” said Roger, “you may stop and get a drink at the town pump, if you like.”
“No, thank you,” said Patty, “I don’t want to get out, but I would like to stop a minute or two in one of them.”
Roger would willingly have granted Patty’s wish, but he was deprived of this privilege by the car itself. Just as they neared a small settlement known as Huntley’s Corners, another ominous sound from the machine gave warning.
“That belt again!” exclaimed Roger. “Patty, the probabilities are that you’ll have all the time you want to study up this village, and even learn the life history of the oldest inhabitant.”
“What an annoying belt it is,” said Mrs. Farrington in her pleasant way. “Don’t you think, Roger dear, that you had better get a new belt and be done with it?”
“That’s just what I do think, Mother, but somehow I can’t persuade myself that they keep them for sale at this corner grocery.”
The car had reached the only store in the settlement, and stopped almost in front of it.