It was Juan Pachuca. Polly sighed, disappointed to tears. She tried to explain the situation.
“But in two hours I will have you in Athens,” he begged. “Or is it that you wish to stay with these people?”
“Of course I don’t wish to stay! The children have the mumps and the poor old lady is nearly wild.”
“Come. Give me that bag. So—I thought all Americans were sensible people!” And before Polly could object she found herself seated in the car with Juan Pachuca driving silently at her side.
CHAPTER IV
JUAN PACHUCA
About half an hour after his conversation with Mrs. Van Zandt, Marc Scott drove the buckboard with its two lively horses out on the Conejo road. Beside him sat a blond dog of mixed genealogy answering to the name of “Yellow.” Scott had put on a coat over his flannel shirt, tucked his trousers into a pair of riding boots, and replaced his sombrero with a soft cloth hat. These changes having been made in honor of the visitor, he felt that his duty had been fulfilled and he addressed Yellow ruminatively:
“Well, I expect we got to brush up a bit on our manners if we’re going to have a young lady around, eh, Yellow? Going to be some strain on us both, I’ll say. Funny idea to run off to a place like this just because you’ve quarreled with your young man! Got the temper that goes with red hair, I guess. I remember a red-haired girl I used to know in Detroit——” A grin succeeded the worried look on Scott’s face; evidently the adventure with the red-haired girl had had its humorous side.