The roadster was now repaired and ready to be used, so the bill was paid and Mrs. Alexander got in. Mrs. Fabian was rather timid about trusting herself with such a chauffeur again, so Mr. Fabian seated himself beside the owner of the car.
“Which way do you go from here?” called out one of the strange young men.
“On to Turin,” answered Mr. Alexander.
“Do you mind if we follow you? We lost our way to Turin, somewhere, back there, and when we found ourselves here we decided to go on and not stop at Turin.”
This sounded rather lame for an excuse, but no one could refuse permission for the boys to follow, if they wanted to—so Mr. Alexander shouted back at them: “This air is free, and so is the earth! Foller what you like, as long as you don’t run us down and make us stop for another over-haulin’ of the cars.”
The young men laughed and thanked the sarcastic little man, but the girls smiled as they wondered if this change in route—or minds of the two young men—was caused by seeing a number of pretty misses in the touring car?
The day was far spent when the roadster was in a shape to continue the tour, and Turin was many a mile away. So it was found to be impossible to reach there that night. The recent experience with the avalanche had caused a reaction, too, and as everyone felt worn out with the tension, it was decided to stop at a small inn in the foot-hills of the Alps.
The automobiles had been left in the shed that was used for the cows and oxen, and the travellers entered the low-ceiled primitive room with ravenous appetites. The inn-keeper was cooking at a huge fireplace at the end of the room, and the odor of bacon and onions permeated the entire place.
“Oh!” sighed Eleanor, rolling her eyes upwards, “I never smelled anything so delicious!”
“Yet you abominate onions at other times,” laughed Polly.