"I'm thinking of going on."
"And meanwhile?"
"Meanwhile—whatever comes."
Billy Howland's face was radiant. "I had a date tonight and the lady threw me down. One of those drummer's wives that take in washing to add to the family income while hubby's flirting round the country. This hubby came home unexpectedly. I'm glad he did."
He beamed with such whole-souled good-nature that Susan laughed. "Thanks. Same to you," said she.
"Hope you're going to do a lot of that laughing," said he. "It's the best I've heard—such a quiet, gay sound. I sure do have the best luck. Until five years ago there was nothing doing for Billy—hall bedroom—Wheeling stogies—one shirt and two pairs of cuffs a week—not enough to buy a lady an ice-cream soda. All at once—bang! The hoodoo busted, and everything that arrived was for William C. Howland. Better get aboard."
"Here I am."
"Hold on tight. I pay no attention to the speed laws, and round the corners on two wheels. Do you like good things to eat?"
"I haven't eaten for six months."
"You must have been out home. Ah!—There's the man to tell us dinner's ready."