Mary Ellen stared at the motor-car. Her beautiful brown eyes opened very wide. Her mouth opened slightly and expanded in a smile. A long line of the black transferred from the kitchen kettle to her cheek reached from her ear to the point of her chin. It was broken as her smile broadened and finally part of it was lost in the hollow of a dimple which appeared. Mary Ellen had never before seen so splendid a motor.
“Will you stop grinning,” said Doyle, “and take the gentleman’s things into the house?”
“My name,” said the stranger, “is Billing, Horace P. Billing.”
“Do you hear that now?” said Doyle to Mary Ellen.
She approached the motor-car cautiously, still smiling. Mr. Billing handed out two bags and then a photographic camera with tripod legs, strapped together. Doyle took one of the bags. Mary Ellen took the other. Mr. Billing himself carried the camera.
“It occurs to me,” said Mr. Billing, “that this town kind of cries out to be wakened up a bit.”
“I wouldn’t say,” said Doyle, “but it might be the better of it.”
Mary Ellen turned round and looked at Mr. Billing. She felt that he was likely, if he were really bent on waking up the town, to begin with her. It did not please her to be wakened up. She looked at Mr. Billing anxiously. She wanted to know whether he were the kind of man who would be able to rouse her to unusual activity.
“Where I come from,” said Mr. Billing, “I’m reckoned to hustle quite considerable. I’d rather like to try if I could get a move on your folks.”’
“You can try,” said Doyle. “I’d be glad if you’d try, for the place wants it.”