“And it’s going to go well,” said Marjorie with assurance. “There’s nothing to worry us, unless it is a little rain. But who cares for that?”
“Nobody!” cried two or three of the girls at once.
“Our cars are certainly the pink of perfection,” added Lily. “Both of them are in such good condition that nothing short of an accident could make them go wrong.”
“And even the tires are brand new, so we needn’t expect any punctures,” put in Ethel.
“Wouldn’t it be funny,” chuckled Alice, “if those young men really are spies sent by Aunt Emeline, and if they find that we do everything like clockwork, and have to give her an even better report than we would care to give ourselves!”
“Then let’s be starting again,” urged Marjorie, rising with a sudden display of energy. “And keep up our good beginning.”
They changed shifts now, Florence taking the driver’s seat in Lily’s roadster, and Ethel assuming command of the larger car. Again the weather was bright and clear, and a smooth road stretched before them. The girls looked forward to another delightful day.
“I wonder whether we shall get tired of riding,” remarked Marjorie, who was enjoying the luxury of a seat in the tonneau. “I don’t believe I shall, even after three thousand miles.”
“I don’t believe any of us will if we don’t try to rush too much,” replied Mrs. Remington. “If we rest on Sundays, and don’t attempt to go too far in a day, and stop off at Mae’s—”
“Won’t that be delightful!” exclaimed Alice. “Aren’t you girls all crazy to see her new home? Chauffeur—” She touched Ethel on the shoulder—“drive fast so that we can get there by Saturday.”