“Oh, you make my mouth water,” said Aurora, who knew that Aunt Betty Calvert’s coffee was famous for miles around.
Aurora took her leave a short while later, and hardly had she gone before Gerald Blank drew up in front of the Calvert place in his big automobile and cried out for Jim and Ephraim.
Neither the boy nor the negro needed a second invitation. Each had been keen in anticipation of the ride—Jim because of his natural interest in mechanism of any sort; Ephraim because he felt proud of the title “chauffeur,” which Aurora had bestowed upon him, and was curious to have his first lesson in running “dat contraption,” as he termed it.
“I tell you, Gerald, she’s a dandy,” said Jim, after the boys had shaken hands and made a few formal inquiries about the interval which had elapsed since last they met. As Jim spoke, his eye roamed over the long torpedo body of the big touring car.
Straight from the factory but a few weeks since, replete with all the latest features, the machine represented the highest perfection of skilled mechanical labor. The body was enameled in gray and trimmed in white, after the fashion of many of the torpedo type of machines which were then coming into vogue.
Seeing Jim’s great interest, Gerald, who was already a motor enthusiast, went from one end of the car to the other, explaining all the fine points.
“There is not a mechanical feature of the Ajax that has not been thoroughly proven out in scores of successful cars,” he said. “Now, here, for instance, is the engine.” Throwing back the hood of the machine, the boy exposed the mechanism. “That’s the Renault type of motor, known as ‘the pride of France,’ and one of the finest ever invented. Great engineers have gone on record that the men who put the Ajax car together have advanced five years ahead of the times. You will notice, Jim, that the engine valves are all on one side. You’re enough of a mechanician to appreciate the advantage of that. It makes it simple and compact, and gives great speed and power. We should have little trouble in traveling seventy miles an hour, if we chose.”
“Lordy, we ain’t gwine tuh chose!” cried Eph.
“Why, I thought you had the speed mania, Ephy,” was Gerald’s good-natured retort.