When Peaches and I finally reached the Hawley mansion on the hill we found there a scene of great excitement. Old and distant relations were bustling up and down the stone steps, talking in whispers; servants with scared faces and popping eyes were peeping around the corner of the house, and in the roadway in front of a sobbing automobile stood Uncle Gilbert and Aunt Miranda, made up to look like two members of the Peary expedition at the Pole.
After the formal greetings we were soon put hep to the facts in the case.
"You see, John," bubbled Aunt Miranda, while a pair of green goggles danced an accompaniment on her nose, "your Uncle Gilbert loaned the money to a man to open a garage in Hawleysville. But automobilists never got any blowouts or punctures going through here because there isn't a saloon in the town, so the garage failed and the man left town in an awful hurry, and all your Uncle Gilbert got for the money he loaned was this car. We've been four years making up our minds to buy one and now we have one whether we want it or not."
"Fine!" I said; "going out for a spin, Uncle Gilbert?"
"Possibly," he answered, never taking his eyes off the man-killer in front of him, which stood there trembling with anger.
"What car is it?" I inquired politely.
"It's a Seismic," Uncle Gilbert said.
"Oh, yes, of course; made by the Earthquake Brothers in Powderville—good car for the hills, especially coming down," I volunteered. "Know how to run it?"
"I guess so; I was always a good hand at machinery," Uncle Gilbert answered.
"Don't you think you should have a chauffeur?" Peaches suggested.