He managed to get the automobile to the side of the road out of the way of other traffic before the engine entirely ceased to turn.
“Although there doesn’t seem to be much traffic of any sort over this road,” said Ruth. “We haven’t been passed by an auto this morning.”
“I should say not!” exclaimed Agnes, promptly. “Our car is no flivver, I’d have you know. Do you expect, Ruth Kenway, to have all the cars in Christendom pass us?”
“It looks now as though some of them might,” responded the older girl, laughing at her sister’s vehemence.
“I guess you’ve heard the story of the wealthy man who went out driving in his high-powered French car,” remarked Neale, who had tipped back the hood and was looking to see if he could find what was wrong, “and his chauffeur drove too slowly to suit him.
“‘This is like a funeral procession,’ said the owner to the chauffeur; ‘why don’t you drive around that flivver in front of us?’
“‘No use, boss,’ the chauffeur told him.
“‘Why not?’ demanded the owner.
“‘There’ll be another flivver ahead of that.’”
“That’s all right, Neale O’Neil,” put in Agnes, smartly. “Trying to take our attention off the fact that we’re not moving ahead very fast, either! What’s the matter with it?”