"Could you walk from here to Burlington at one stretch?" asked Connie.
He looked rather surprised. "Why, perhaps I could if I was in shape, but—seven miles was all I cared about this morning."
"Well, I think it was mighty brave of you to walk that far,—I don't care why you did it," announced Connie with emphasis.
"Brave!" he repeated. "I have walked three times seven miles, often, when I was in school."
"Oh, I mean the whole thing—clear from Des Moines," explained Connie.
"From Des Moines," he gasped. "Good heavens! I did not walk from Des Moines! Did you—" He turned to Prudence questioningly. "Did you think I walked clear from Des Moines?"
"Yes." And added hastily, "But I did not care if you did. It did not make any difference how you came."
For a moment he was puzzled. Then he burst out laughing. "I am afraid we had too much to talk about this morning. I thought I had explained my situation, but evidently I did not. I drove from Des Moines in the car, and——"
"The automobile!" gasped Carol, with a triumphant look at Lark.
"Yes, just so. I stopped several places on business as I came through. I drove from Burlington this morning, but I got off the road. The car broke down on me, and I couldn't fix it,—broke an axle. So I had to walk in. That is what I was seeing about to-day,—sending a man out for the car and arranging about the repairs." He smiled again. "What in the world did you think I would walk from Des Moines for?" he asked Prudence, more inquisitive than grammatical.