"What's the big idea?" Dorothy sprang in beside him, looking very trim and boyish in jodhpurs and dark flannel shirt over which she wore a thin brown sweater. "Isn't my car good enough for you?"
"This boat has a full tank," he replied tersely. "Can't waste time tonight picking up gas."
They had reversed the car down the drive and were now speeding along the tree-lined road in the direction of Bedford.
"Got my gun?" she asked.
"Surest thing you know!" Bill passed over a small revolver in a holster. "Tie yourself to that! It's a Colt .32 and it's loaded. Know how to use it?"
"Certainly. What do you expect me to do--release the safety catch and pull the trigger to see if it works?" Her tone flared hotly with indignation.
Bill whistled a tuneless air, but the whistle developed into a laugh and the laugh continued until Dorothy snapped:
"Don't cackle like a billygoat!"
"Billygoats don't--" he began but broke off, changing his bantering tone. "Then why do you tie the leg-strap around your waist?" he asked seriously enough.
She swallowed hard.