Old Carey, however, had flown into a passion.
He used fearful language and said that he should walk every step of the way home, which threat he evidently supposed to constitute a terrible revenge upon the drunken driver, Nancy, Christopher, and everybody who had helped to enrage him.
“He’s in one of his rather difficult moods, I’m afraid,” said Nancy aside.
It was Harter, of all unlikely people, who suddenly suggested a solution.
“The car is only a Ford, isn’t it? I’ll drive it back to the garage—it’s next door to our rooms in Queen Street—and I will drop Mr. —”
“Carey—”
“Mr. Carey and this lady on the way.”
“No room,” growled Carey, determined not to be appeased.
“Plenty of room,” everybody assured him.
“Three at the back and one beside the driver,” said Harter, who appeared to have become suddenly articulate.