About four o’clock the rain slackened to a slow drizzle, and promised to continue for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. At half past four one of Mr. Andrews’s big machines stopped at the steps and to everyone’s intense relief, Bob and John jumped out. The girls were with them! And so was Harold Mason!
“We found Marj and Frieda several miles up the road, taking refuge from the rain in a house, and poor Mason was sitting all alone in his busted Lizzie!” said John in answer to the eager questions put to them from all present.
The sight of the wet, bedraggled girls in their bathing suits suddenly struck the rest of the party humorously, and with one accord they burst into uncontrollable laughter. When this had finally subsided, Frieda told the story, taking all the blame upon herself.
“And we were scared for fear that old man had got hold of you again,” said Lily, after the account was finished. “You didn’t see anything of him, did you?”
“Only his beard,” laughed Marjorie, drawing the shock of grey hair from her pocket. “I found this in the back of Harold’s car.”
Although the owner was inwardly dumbfounded at these words, only Marjorie and Ruth noticed any embarrassment in his manner as he stumbled upon an explanation.
“Oh, that!” he laughed. “I’m Foxy Grandpop in a play at home, and that’s part of the makeup. And that reminds me, Mrs. Andrews, that we have a dress rehearsal tomorrow which I must attend, so I’m afraid I’ll have to leave right away.”
“But your car——” interrupted Jack.
“I’ll have to go by train. But if I phone to the garage to go get it and fix it up, couldn’t you drive it down, Wilkinson? Or Ruth—could you——?”
“Certainly,” answered Ruth, perceiving how uncomfortable Harold’s position was, and realizing how he longed to escape. “Go by all means. It’ll be a lark to drive it down!”