"What hour shall it be?" inquired Jonathan, his finger on the regulator.
"Whenever you think best," I answered cheerfully.
Now, as we both understood, I had no real intention of being literally guided by what Jonathan thought best,—that would have been too rash,—but it opened negotiations pleasantly to say so.
Jonathan, trying to be obliging against his better judgment, suggested, "Well—six o'clock?"
But I refused any such tremendous concession, knowing that I should have to bear the ignominy of it if the adventure proved unfortunate. "No, of course not. Six is much too late. Anybody can get up at six."
"Well, then," he brightened; "say five?"
"Five," I meditated. "No, it's quite light at five. We ought to be out there at daylight, you said."
Jonathan visibly expanded. He realized that I was behaving very well. I thought so myself, and it made us both very amiable.
"Yes," he admitted, "we ought to be, of course. And it will take three quarters of an hour to drive out there. Add fifteen minutes to that for breakfast, and fifteen minutes to dress—would a quarter to four be too outrageous?"
"Oh, make it half-past three," I rejoined recklessly, in a burst of self-sacrifice.