“I’m glad you like it,” said Roger a little grimly. “I’m always pleased to entertain my guests.”
The storm was increasing, and now amounted to a gale. The rain dashed against the curtains in great wet sheets, and finally forced its way in at a few of the crevices.
Mrs. Farrington, sitting between her husband and daughter, was thoroughly frightened and extremely uncomfortable, but she pluckily refrained from giving way to her nervousness, and succeeded in behaving herself with real bravery and courage.
Still the tempest grew. So wildly did it dash against the front curtain that Patty and Roger could see scarcely a foot before the machine.
“There’s one comfort,” said Roger, through his clenched teeth, “we’re not in danger of running into anything, for no other fools would be abroad such a night as this. Patty, I’m going to speed her! I’m going to race the storm!”
“Do!” said Patty, who was wrought up to a tense pitch of excitement by the war of the elements without, and the novelty of the situation within.
Roger increased the speed, and they flew through the black night and dashed into the pouring rain, while Patty held her breath, and wondered what would happen next.
On they went and on. Patty’s imagination kept pace with her experiences and through her mind flitted visions of Tam O’Shanter’s ride, John Gilpin’s ride and the ride of Collins Graves. But all of these seemed tame affairs beside their own break-neck speed through the wild night!
“Roger,” said his mother, “Roger, won’t you please——”
“Ask her not to speak to me just now, Patty, please,” said the boy, in such a tense, strained voice that Patty was frightened at last, but she knew that if Roger were frightened, that was a special reason for her own calmness and bravery. Turning slightly, she said, “Please don’t speak to him just now, Mrs. Farrington; he wants to put all his attention on his steering.”