“To Dol. He told me he was staying there.”
“He’ll change his mind on the way—I’ve chased him long enough now to know his habits. Still it’s worth trying. See here, Miss Wales, don’t you want to come along and introduce me,—or just countenance the expedition by your presence? Jasper J. hates newspaper men, and you might be a lot of help. It won’t take ten minutes to round him up. We can go in that car.” He waved his hand at one drawn up by the curbing.
“Of course I’ll come,” agreed Betty, “only I ought to go in and tell Mrs. Hildreth first.”
“No time,” objected Dick brusquely. “Every minute counts.” He ran down the steps and began cranking the engine vigorously. “Get up in front beside me, so we can talk.”
Betty hesitated an instant and then, reflecting that ten minutes couldn’t matter much, and wishing to be obliging, she jumped in. Mr. Blake was beside her in an instant, and before she had had time to button her coat or pull her veil tight, they were fairly whizzing down the hill.
“You don’t mind going fast, do you?” asked Mr. Blake absently, his eyes on the sharp rise beyond.
Betty’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I never went fast enough yet. I didn’t know you had a car with you, Mr. Blake.”
“Oh, I haven’t,” he explained quickly. “This belongs to an old pal of mine—somebody you know, by the way. Remember Mrs. Bob, who chaperoned Madeline’s house-party? Well, this is her husband’s car. You remember him, too, and the awful daubs he painted? We guyed him about them until he took it to heart and went West to make his fortune. Put all his money in a Texas oil well, had beginner’s luck, and now he’s drawing a thousand a week from that well. And prosperity has improved his painting, too, until he turns out very decent things. He’s working in the garden next the Casino this afternoon. I was to come for him about this time, and we were going for a little spin in the cool of the afternoon.”
“Won’t he be worried about his car?”
“Probably, if he goes out to look for it,” said Mr. Blake calmly. “But he ought to have something to worry over. He’s getting disgracefully fat. Do you know, Miss Wales, our friend Jasper J. is going the pace all right, if that cloud of dust ahead is his outfit.”