“Don’t detain me, Bessie dear,” he said, anticipating her. “I’ll be back quicker than—Jimmy made it in five minutes coming up.”
“Walter, you’ll kill some one some day. It’s a shame, the way you make James drive. I know he’s not a bit reckless, but you just, just—”
“Bye-bye, sis. I’ll be back at six-thirty.”
“No, James isn’t reckless—not a bit,” he muttered, as he ran down the steps; “are you, Jimmy?”
“Are I what, sir?”
“Are you able to make the club again in five minutes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I knew Bessie was wrong,” he said mysteriously, as he entered the machine.
James, inferring that his ability to “make time” had been questioned by Miss Bascomb,—although not a little surprised, as she had always cautioned him to drive reasonably,—made the trip in four minutes, despite the increased traffic of the hour.
Punctually at half-past six they were at Bascomb’s home again.