“Pawdon me, Miss Dorot’y,” interrupted Ephraim, entering at this moment. “I—I—er—good mawnin’, Miss Aurory.”
“Good morning, Ephy,” Dorothy’s visitor responded. “Has anyone told you that you are to become a chauffeur?”
“W’at’s dat, Miss Aurory? A show fer? A show fer w’at?”
“A chauffeur, Ephy, is a man who drives an automobile.”
“One o’ dem fellers dat sets up in de front seat en turns de steerin’ apparatus?”
“Exactly. How would you like to do that?”
“I ain’t nebber monkeyed round dem gasoline contraptions none, but I reckon I’d like tuh do w’at yo’ say, Miss Aurory—yas’m; I jes’ reckon I would.”
“Well, Gerald is coming over some time to-day to show you and Jim a few things about the car. You will take turns playing chauffeur on our camping trip, and he wants to give you a lesson every day until we leave.”
“Dat suah suits me,” grinned the old negro.