Miss Pauline Marvin, Castle Marvin, Westbury. Blow-out. Can't get back this evening. George Farre
"You—don't want to say what kind of a blow-out it is, do you?" grinned the operator, glancing out of the window at the spic and span machine.
"If you don't see everything you look at, you'll save your eyesight," replied Farrell cheerfully.
At the next town he telephoned to the Marvin office in New York. He came out of the booth with a worried look.
"The boss has left in a taxi for home," he said. "Wonder what that means. Guess we better sort of travel along towards Westbury. He might need me."
They changed their course and had driven for some time at an easy rate through the smiling country when the sound of a machine coming up speedily behind caused Farrell to look around. The passenger in the open cab waved his hand and Farrell, saluting, slowed down. The cars stopped, side by side. Harry raised his hat to the young woman.
"You're not going home, are you, Farrell?" he said.
"I heard you'd left the office and I thought something might have happened, and I'd be near enough so you could get me quick."
"Nothing has happened. I'll get along nicely with this cab. You'd better keep a good distance and not come home until tomorrow morning."
"Very well, sir. That suits us fine." Farrell grinned.