"Won't go, eh?" The old gentleman turned off the power in his car and stepped forth, agilely, joyfully, prepared to do irreparable damage to the stranger's car. He drew off his gloves and slipped them into his pocket, then for a moment he hesitated.
"Where is your chauffeur?"
"I haven't one," said the Watermelon.
The old gentleman disapproved. "Until you know more about your machine, you should have one," said he oratorically. "I am practically an expert, and yet I always take mine with me."
He waved aside any comment on his own meritorious conduct and foresight and turned to the machine. "There is probably something the matter with the carburetor," said he, and raised the hood.
"Probably," admitted the Watermelon, alighting and peering into the engine beside the old gentleman.
"Father," suggested the lady gently, "maybe you had better let Alphonse—"
Alphonse, sure of the reply, made no move to alight and assist.
The old gentleman, with head nearly out of sight, peering here and there, tapping this and sounding that, replied with evident annoyance. "Certainly not, Henrietta. I am perfectly capable—"
His words trailed off into vague mutterings.