"Can't. There's a man coming at—"
"I know. There's always a man coming. Tell him to come to-morrow. Tell him you are called out of town."
"But you have a lot of things to-day too—book clubs and Japanese clubs and such things. You said last night—"
"I'll tell them I'm called out of town too. I am called—we're both called, you know we are. And we've got to go."
"Really, my dear, you know I want to, but—"
"No use! It's a runaway. Get the time-table and see which is the first train to anywhere—to nowhere—who cares where!"
Jonathan went, protesting. I let him protest. A man should have some privileges.
We took the first train. It was a local, of course, and it trundled jerkily along one of the little rivers we knew. When the conductor came to us, Jonathan showed him our mileage book. "Where to?" he asked mechanically, but stiffened to attention when Jonathan said placidly, "I don't know yet. Where are we going, my dear?"
"I hadn't thought," I said; "let's see the places on the map."
"Well, conductor," said Jonathan, "take off for three stations, and if we don't get off then, you'll find us here when you come around, and then you can take off some more."