Mr. Prescott, starting the car quickly, drove rapidly down the street.
When they reached the square, Billy said:
“Some letters, sir, to post. That’s where I was going.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Prescott, stopping the car.
“Ever in a machine before?” he asked, as Billy got in again beside him.
“No, sir.”
“Think I’ll take you with me then; I’m chasing an order. We’re nearly out of coke.”
They rode so fast that the air began to seem cooler. Billy, quite willing to be silent with Mr. Prescott beside him, settled back in the seat in blissful content.
“Know anything about coke, William?” asked Mr. Prescott, breaking the silence, suddenly.
“No, sir, except that it’s gray, and that they burn it in the cupola.”