"Say—who stopped this train?" he bellowed.
"I don't know—who usually stops it?" Minot replied, and he and the girl slid by the uniform to the safety of Sunbeam.
The lean, lank, weary native who lolled beside the passé automobile was startled speechless for a moment by the sight of two such attractive visitors in his unattractive town. Then he remembered.
"Want a taxi, mister?" he inquired. "Take you up to the Sunbeam House for a quarter apiece—"
"Yes, we do want a taxi—" Minot began.
"To San Marco," cried the girl breathlessly. "Can you get us there by one o'clock?"
"To—to—say, lady," stammered the rustic chauffeur. "That train you just got off of is going to San Marco."
"Oh, no, it isn't," Minot explained. "We know better. It's going out into the country to lie down under a shade tree and rest."
"The train is too slow," said the girl. "I must be in San Marco before one o'clock. Can you get me—us—there by then? Speak quickly, please."
The effect of this request on the chauffeur was to induce even greater confusion.