He broke off suddenly, gave a hasty look around and bolted off the end of the porch into the semidarkness of the lawn. He ran across behind the houses to his own back porch, procured a dustcoat from within and dashed back, regardless of the bodily heat he was generating. As the Green Imp backed out of the barn Macauley swung himself into the unoccupied seat.
Burns, also in dust-coat pulled on over his evening clothes, grinned cheerfully. “Deserter?” he queried.
“You'll be back within the hour, won't you?”
“Less than that, probably. The Imp's running like a bird to-night—show you her paces when we get out. Hi, there! Who's that chasing us? Well, of all the—you, too, Ches?”
Panting, Chester flung himself upon the running-board just as the car turned out of the yard. “Had a hunt for my coat—nearly lost you!” he gasped.
Burns stopped the car. “See here, sonny,” he expostulated. “You happen to be host, you know. I might be detained out there, though I don't expect it.”
“I'll take the trolley back if you are,” replied Chester, settling himself. “I can't stand it to see you fellows cut away out of the pow-wow and not go, too. I'll take my chances.”
“So be it!” and, laughing, with a glance back at the gaily lighted house, Burns sent the car on her course. “You two are always bragging up the married life,” he remarked as the Green Imp gathered speed, “but it strikes me you're pretty eager to get away from the glories of your wives' entertaining.”
“It's one curious thing,” admitted Macauley thoughtfully, “that no matter how harmonious a couple may be they're bound to differ on what does and does not constitute entertainment.”
“Of course, a girl like Pauline always wants to dance, no matter how torrid the night,” explained Chester. “Win and I have to consider our guest's wish. But you can bet Pauline isn't getting her wish—not with R. P. Burns running around the country all the evening and only making five-minute stops at her side.”