“All right,” said he. “I think I'm fit for general society again. I wasn't when I tackled this job. Nothing like fifteen minutes of woodpile for taking the temper out of the saw—and the man.”
Macauley, a stout, good-humoured fellow of thirty-five, laughed. “That temper of yours, Red has it been on the rampage again?”
“It has. Don't talk about it or it'll lift to confounded red head again—it's only scotched for the present. New car's here, eh?”
“Yes, and the pretty widow's here, too—my wife's sister, Ellen Lessing. We've a great plan for tomorrow, Red. I can't venture to drive this elephant of a car yet, but the women are wild for a trip in her. She holds seven. Martha wants you to drive us and the Chesters to-morrow a hundred and fifty miles—seventy-five to F —— and back. Will you do it? You're not so horribly busy just now, and Mrs. Lessing and Pauline Hempstead together ought to make it worth while for you.”
This feature of the invitation did not appear to appeal to Burns, but the sight of the touring car, brave and shining in russet and brass, plainly did.
“Not that I'd care to drive such a whale for myself, but I shouldn't mind a run for the fun of trying her out. You say she's been driven enough to warm up her engines? Suppose we take her out and let me get the feel of her mouth before to-morrow?”
“Come on.” And they were off.
“For a whale she's a bird,” was Burns's paradoxical verdict two hours later. The “trying out” had merged into a smooth run of forty-five miles at not anything like the full pace of which the motor was capable. “Best not to overheat her at first. Run your first three hundred miles with consideration for her vital organs—she'll have her wind by that time.”
Next morning four women, long-coated, tissue-veiled, watched the brown beauty roll invitingly up to Macauley's porch steps.
As she crossed the lawn with Winifred, Pauline Hempstead, the guest of the Chesters, was studying not only the car, but the undeniably attractive gray-clad figure of the lately-arrived younger sister of Mrs. Macauley. “Will Red P. look at her any more than he does at me?” she murmured in Winifred Chester's ear.