"Don't tempt the fates," cautioned Ned, "we can always get enough trouble without beckoning it."
"It was good sport, meeting the little country woman and all that," said Nat, "but I must admit I did not enjoy the mud bath. I have heard of mud baths in sanitariums. Do you suppose they are that kind?"
"Oh, no," laughed Ned. "They perfume the mud and mix it with bay rum. Then they allow it to trickle down your spinal column to the rhythm of your favorite poem—so many drops to so many feet."
"I'll never forget how you looked when you came up on that rail," declared Tavia, merrily. "I have heard of such things, but that is the first time I ever saw any one really ride a rail—"
"And my initial performance, I assure you. Well, do not be so painfully faithful as never to forget my appearance. I think you might sympathize with a fellow."
But Tavia only laughed more heartily. She declared he could not have been drowned; of course it was wet and cold and muddy—
"And he might have fallen, and not have been able to get to his feet again," remarked Dorothy, with apprehension. "I am awfully afraid of mysterious accidents; and who can tell what is at the bottom of a spring?"
"For expert testimony," replied Nat, "apply to Nathaniel White, Esquire. He is in every way qualified—Oh, I say, my knee! Ouch! Can't move it," and he winced in pain.
"Let me get there," insisted Ned, "you may take a kink somewhere and make us turn turtle. Besides you will not get so much breeze back here."
Nat was easily persuaded now, for the fact was he did not feel at all comfortable—the mud bath was getting in its work,—so the machine was stopped while he got in the tonneau and his brother took the place at the wheel.