The Watermelon was unhappy. By this time they should have been in Harrison, with the parting over, and he wanted it over. The thought that they would probably be together a day longer did not please him. The sooner he took to the road again and became a bum and a hobo, the better. Billy did not care for him. He was the only one who would suffer, and every moment he was with her only made the suffering worse. He turned to Henrietta with relief from the thoughts that were insistently bothering him and would not let him alone.
"Father was never in a motor-car," said he. "He used to say that his funeral would be just another irony of fate. The only chance he had to ride, he wouldn't be able to appreciate it."
"I know that it is terrible to be poor," said Henrietta, "but I think people ought to enjoy other things than just those that money can give."
"What things?"
"Why, the woods and fields, a beautiful day—"
"Rent day, probably, and no rent money. Father used to say when you're poor, every day is rent day."
"We're nearing the end of the woods," cried Bartlett. "And I think I see a house."
And then the car stopped.
"Gid ap," chirped Bartlett.
Henrietta leaned forward. The general was hastily trying all the brakes, slipping one lever then the other, fussing here and fussing there, and Henrietta knew the symptoms of approaching trouble.