"It was so foolish of me," cried the girl. "I ran up to Jacksonville in a friend's motor to do a little shopping. I should have known better. I'm always doing things like this."
And she looked at Dick Minot accusingly, as though it were he who always put her up to them.
"I'm awfully sorry, really," Minot said. He felt quite uncomfortable about it.
"And can't you suggest anything?"—pleadingly, almost tearfully.
"Not at this moment. I'll try, though. Look!" He pointed out the window. "That family of razor-backs has caught up with us four times already."
"What abominable service," the girl cried. "But—aren't they cunning? The little ones, I mean."
And she stood looking out with a wonderful tenderness in her eyes, which, considering the small creatures upon which it was lavished, was almost ludicrous.
"Off again," cried Minot.
And they were. The girl sat nervously on the edge of her seat, with the expression of one who meant to keep the train going by mental suggestion. Five cheerful minutes passed in rapid transit. And then—another abrupt stop.
"Almost like a football game," said Minot blithely to the distressed lady across the aisle. "Third down—five yards to go. Oh, by jove, there's a town on my side."