But the other thought: "What if it were Bert?"
"I'll let her out a little more," repeated Chester. The car throbbed and rocked to the words.
"How do you like my machine?" he added, in a comfortable voice. He felt that the mercury of emotion had mounted too far. "Mrs. Chester has named her," he proceeded. "We call her Aurora."
"Hey?"
"We've named the machine Aurora, I said."
"'Roarer,' sir?"
"Oh, well, that will do—'Roarer,' if you like. That isn't bad. It's an improvement, perhaps. By-the-way, how did you happen on my place to-night? There are a good many nearer the station; you had quite a walk."
"I see a little pair o' reins an' bells in the grass alongside—such as little boys play horse with. We had one once for Batty, sir."
"Ah! Was that it? What's your business, Dryver? You haven't told me. Do you fish?"
"Winters, I make paving-stones. Summers, I raise vegetables," replied Jacob Dryver. "I'm a kind of a quarry-farmer. My woman she plants flowers for the summer folks, and Batty bunches 'em up and delivers 'em. Batty—he—God! My God! Mebbe there ain't any Batty—"