Phil’s voice rang out resentfully on the last sentence. She had felt suspicion rise within her the instant she caught sight of Leslie Cairns. “There!” she declared with some vehemence. “I’ve told you plainly what I think of Leslie Cairns. You know I’ve never said much about her before now. I don’t mean to be a back-biter. But I think she’s more likely to try to make mischief now than ever. She’s vindictive. She’s shown that. She likes to blame Marjorie, instead of herself, for the trouble she and the Sans had that wound up their B. A. prospects at Hamilton. I won’t forgive her for misjudging Marjorie purposely.”
“I don’t blame you, old firecracker. I sympathize with your sputters,” laughed Robin. “I’ve said as much as you about Leslie Cairns to Marjorie. It’s just as Marvelous Manager says. We can’t judge her on suspicion. If she should make us trouble, later, all we could do would be repair the damage done and go on minding our own affairs. No one can punish Leslie Cairns so effectively as Leslie Cairns herself.”
“True enough, wise Robin.” Phil’s sunny smile broke from behind her briefly clouded features. “Let’s leave her to her own downfall,” she said lightly, “and consider instead our Thanksgiving thankfulnesses. I’m thankful the weather’s growing better instead of worse, and doubly thankful we decided to go to town and engineer the dinner movement.”
“Without us the girls might have had hard work reaching the inn,” Robin asserted. “They couldn’t have walked and look presentable after they reached Baretti’s, and they would not have been able to hire any cars. They’d have had to telephone us, but they might have tried to help themselves first. That would have taken time, and been a failure in the end. By the time we had gone to their rescue it would have been late in the afternoon.”
“We managed to dodge a fine flivver all around,” observed Phil with a self-congratulatory nod.
Under Robin’s slender practiced hands the car had been swiftly eating up the distance between town and the inn. The cousins hardly realized their nearness to it, so earnestly were they talking, until the quaint low structure appeared ahead of them, only a few rods distant, a welcome sight. Robin slowed down with a deep breath of satisfaction.
“You almost anchored our good ship Bubble in a mud hole, mon capitaine,” teased Barbara. She scrambled from the tonneau, balanced herself on the running board and nimbly leaped the shallow beginning of a deep, wide roadside puddle, the greater spread of which was in front of the car. Barbara flapped her arms and made a triumphant landing on wet but solid ground.
“No one is infallible,” chuckled Robin. “Thank your stars I didn’t splash you. It’s your move, lady. Don’t be afraid to make it,” she turned to Phil with the gruff tone of a traffic officer. She and Phil both rose in the seat to leave the machine. Both beheld in the same instant a small black car coming toward them at high speed.
Swish; splatter; splash! The forward tires of the oncoming car struck the wide puddle with a force that sent the muddy water of the puddle upward in jets. In passing Robin’s car the other machine gave a violent lurch toward it that threatened but did not precipitate a collision. On down the road the black car shot, spattering the mud and water high as it whizzed out of sight around a bend.
“Whew! Faugh!” Phil dashed away a splash of soft mud that had struck her squarely on the mouth. Face and clothing were liberally spattered with it. Robin had been equally unfortunate. Phil suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh, ha, ha!” she laughed. “My poor polka dot cousin. You’re a P. D., Robin; instead of a P. G.”