“Will the contraption hold together?” Carol wanted to know.
“It’s been a-runnin’ for nigh onto twenty years and ain’t fell apart yet,” the driver said, climbing into his seat and waiting for the girls to get aboard.
“That isn’t saying it never will,” Phyllis Elton commented.
After much dickering the girls got into the bus, their luggage for the most part piled on the roof, and the ancient vehicle with its ancient driver started with a roar.
“It reminds me of a peanut roaster,” Carol murmured. “The way the radiator is steaming and the noise it makes.”
“Everything but the peanuts,” agreed Janet. “Which reminds me, I hope dinner is early.”
“Dinner is at seven,” the driver informed them conversationally.
The bus started the long tedious climb up the hillside and the driver settled back comfortably in his seat. He was in no hurry.
“I thought Briarhurst was a prosperous college,” Phyllis Elton said to Gale Howard, “wouldn’t you think they would have a more modern bus? This thing might scare new students.”
The driver frowned on her with all the disgust possible to his wrinkled features.