"Of course he can!" said Fred.
"What's that?" I asked, coming out of my brown study.
"I suppose you know," Fred said, "that I am an agent for the Michigan car, the best little four-cylinder on the market, twenty miles on a gallon of gas, seats five people, rides like a feather bed, nine hundred and fifty dollars."
"Hold on," I cried, "if you have come here to sell me a car, just beat it while the beating is good."
"I have not," he said, "I have come to tell you that you and Charlie Martin are going joy riding with me. I have to go to Hartford to attend the conference of the eastern managers of the Michigan Car Company, and I think the ride, and a day or so off, would do you and Charlie a world of good."
"But we can't get away."
"Can't!" jeered Fred. "Hear the man, Betty," he said, turning to her. "Here is a man in business who says 'can't.' Don't you know that failure comes in 'can't's' and success comes in 'cans.' How many cans of it can I sell you?"
"You're full of it to-day, aren't you?" I said.
"Bet you I am, had eggs for breakfast, and am full of yokes."
"But," I said, "Charlie and I can't get away together."