Garvin was not allowed an immediate hearing. "Oh, Garve! I can see you making a Nebuchadnezzar of yourself under that machine!" Elizabeth Dickenson exclaimed, and one of the Copeley boys added: "I'd rather have it than the sorrel, Garve. George Pettee told me there were two hundred automobiles now in the city—every fellow wants one. Yours would be the first out here—unless father'll get us one. Will you, suh?"
Mr. Copeley was a tall white-haired man, second cousin to the Westmores, and markedly a Westmore. He had looked his surprise at Edward's offer, then had looked thoughtful. "No, suh," he said quietly. "I don't like them. If the county's goin' to be overrun with them, I'll move.... Garvin, you'll have to get to work on that two miles of road from here to the Post-Road befo' you can run a machine over it—that would be the most sensible thing you've done in years. I reckon Edward would like you to get to work at something—it doesn't matter much what.... You wouldn't be furnishing a chauffeur, would you, Ed?"
"No," Edward said.
Baird had watched his opportunity. It was only in his sleep that Nickolas Baird lost sight of business, and not always then. "I can get you a good machine, straight from the factory, and at trade price, Garvin."
Garvin had given his, cousin Copeley a flaming glance, but he answered his brother courteously. "Thank you, Ed. I'll take the machine—and I'll put the road in shape."
"Very well—we'll thank Mr. Baird to-morrow for his kind offer."
"Will you take me riding, Garve?" Priscilla Copeley asked softly, under cover of the remarks that followed.
Baird had noticed her, the pretty, dark-eyed girl who sat beside Garvin. She nestled against his elbow for her half-whisper, and Baird saw the look her mother gave her and the sharp gesture that made her daughter straighten and flush. Baird did not know why he felt sorry for Garvin at that moment; possibly his sensing of the general disapproval. He did not like the man, but that was mainly because of his wild act that morning. But it was a little hard on a fellow, having every one down on him. And it was plain that Garvin mourned his horse. The hunt and Garvin's mishap had been thoroughly discussed in the drawing-room, and Garvin had been restless under it. All they knew was that Garvin had had to shoot his horse. There had been a touch of desperation in Garvin's aside to Baird: "God! I wish they'd let up on the subject—I've had about enough for one day!"
And now Mr. Copeley was giving him another thrust. "You're in for it now, Garvin—are you going at the road pick and shovel?"
Judith spoke for the first time since the subject had been introduced. "Bear Brokaw would be the best man to help you, Garvin," she suggested brightly.