“Gee, whiz, Dorothy?—you’ve got a whale of a lot of nerve!”
Dorothy shrugged and looked steadily at Bill. “Well, are you game?”
For answer he followed her into the car.
“Pretty much like jumping feet first into the lion’s den,” he commented, “but considering your middle name is Daniel, or ought to be, I dare say we’ll have a roaring good time of it!”
“Stop talking jazz, Bill. How about you, Uncle Abe?”
The old man already lounged back on the rear seat.
“Reverse dis hyar injine inter de drive, Miss Dor’thy—an’ when yo’all turned round I’se gwine ter show yo’ where we’se a-gwine.”
Dorothy, smiling over the steering wheel, backed out of the garage and got the Buick headed toward the road.
“Well, Uncle?” she prompted.
“D’reckly in front of us, way over yonder on de far hill ez er big house.”