“It's too dirty. I couldn't let a pretty girl like you in such a place.” He paused and resumed the tone of his narrative where she interrupted him. “You see, I've just put a new crimp in a carburetor for the automobile folks. They're tickled to death over it and I've got automobiles to burn. Will you go to ride with me tomorrow?”
The teacher broke into a joyous laugh.
“Why do you laugh?” he asked awkwardly.
“Well, in the language of New York, that would be going some, wouldn't it?”
“And why not, I'd like to know?” he cried with scorn. “Who's to tell us we can't? You've no kids to bother you tomorrow. I'm my own boss. You've seen Asheville, but you've never seen New York until you sit down beside me in a big six-cylinder racing car I'm handlin' next week. Let me show it to you. I'll swing her around to your door at eight o'clock. In twenty-five minutes we'll clear the Bronx and shoot into New Rochelle. There'll be no cops out to bother us, and not a wheel in sight. It'll do you good. Let me take you! I owe you that much for bein' so nice to me today. Will you go with me?”
Mary hesitated.
“I'll think it over and let you know.”
“Got a telephone?”
“No.”
“Then you'll have to tell me before I go—won't you?”