"It's an outrage," sympathized Bartlett. "We can telegraph the police."
"Oh," moaned Henrietta, "I did love that car."
The landlady sought to reassure them in a calm, placid manner that savored of a big, gentle-eyed cow. "Why, he has only gone for a ride. He went—"
The general paused in the doorway. "He went last night, madam," said he coldly, and slightly dramatically, for the general never believed in spoiling a good story by a mild delivery. "And he took not only the car, but all our money."
Led by the general and followed by the landlady, they made for the barn. There, in the middle of the floor where last night two cars had stood side by side, a red and a blue, was now only one, a big, blue Packard. A few hens stepped daintily here and there, around and under it, while the cat cleaned her paws contentedly from her seat on the running-board.
The general stopped in the doorway and stared. His car? And such a wave of thanksgiving rushed over him that it was not his car that was missing that he felt he owed Alphonse a debt of gratitude and forgave him immediately.
"My car," said he, and chuckled with relief.
"Where's mine?" demanded Bartlett, growing red and angry.
"Where's Alphonse?" suggested the Watermelon significantly.
Henrietta laughed with positive gratitude to her erstwhile serving-man. "Why," she cried, "he left us ours."