“Yes, that’s it, miss, though why they calls it a radiator, when they want it to kape cool, is beyond me. Howsomever——”
“About the ice water, Patrick.”
“Yes, miss, I’m comin’ to that. You see when Miss Belle said as how it b‘iled over the other day, I thinks to myself that sure ice-water will never boil, so I filled the radiator with some as cold as I could bear me fist in it. Arrah, an’ it’s no b‘ilin’ water ye’ll have th’ day, when ye takes this car out, Miss Bess.”
“Oh, Patrick, how kind of you!” exclaimed the girl. “And what a novel idea. I’m sure it will be all right,” and she placed her hand on the radiator. It was as cold as a pump handle on a frosty morning.
“I blew up the tires, too, miss,” went on the man, “an’ here’s a four leaf clover I found. Take it along.”
“What for?” asked Bess, as she accepted the emblem.
“Sure, fer good luck. Maybe ye’ll not git a puncture now. Clovers is good luck.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Bess earnestly, as she cranked up, for Patrick had not yet advanced this far in his auto-education.
Then the girl, most becomingly attired in auto hood and coat, backed the pretty little silver-colored runabout, Flyaway, owned by herself and her sister, “the Robinson twins,” out of the garage, and turned it on the broad drive.
“Would ye mind that now!” exclaimed Patrick, admiringly. “It’s as—as slick as a pig’s whistle, miss, savin’ yer presence.”