“Goodness!” ejaculated Agnes, in some disgust, and trying to sit up primly, “what do you suppose is the matter with folks, anyway? One would think we were a circus parade.”
“Humph! guess we do look funny,” chuckled Neale. “I once saw a picture supposed to represent the good ship Mayflower as she must have appeared off Plymouth Rock, if all the antique furniture you hear about really was brought over by the Pilgrims, as people claim. They had to hang chairs and tables and highboys and lowboys and such things from her spars, besides having an awful deckload. And I reckon we look like a large family on moving day,” finished the boy, with an expansive grin.
“We do not!” exclaimed Agnes, quite put out. “Look at that old gentleman stare. What’s he saying—and shaking his cane, too?”
“Got me,” returned her comrade on the front seat.
He increased the car’s speed and they passed people too quickly for the latter to make themselves heard—if what some of them shouted was of importance. The passing of the Corner House motor car seemed to interest and please the urchins along the way more than anybody else.
“Goodness!” murmured Mrs. Heard, “I never was so much stared at before, I do believe. What do you suppose is the matter with us?”
“They must all want to ride with us,” said Tess, quite composedly.
“Well, they just can’t!” cried Dot. “See that boy running and yelling, will you? Why, he can’t catch up.”
Once out of the city Neale (of course urgently pressed by Agnes) “let her out another notch,” as he expressed it. The car ran as smoothly as though the road was macadamized—although few highways about Milton were so well made as that. But Neale was a careful and skillful driver already, and the springs of the car were excellent.
On and on the handsome car rushed, leaving little spirals of dust behind it, and sending the small fry of rural animal life scurrying out of its path. The peculiar interest shown by pedestrians as they passed through the town, was continued out in the country.