“Oh, it’s just glorious,” thought Bess, as she continued to skim along. “I hope the season will be miles long and years old. We will have a gay time.”
Bess turned the Flyaway into the gravel road that wound up to the handsome and stately Kimball homestead. A toot of the horn brought Cora out of doors quickly, while Bess jammed on the brake and threw out the clutch, and then, as the car came to a squeaking standstill, she shoved over the spark and gasolene levers, with a ripping sound along the ratchets, and turned off the sparking device.
“Come on in and cool off,” invited Cora. “It’s very warm. Summer has almost arrived. I’m delighted to see you, Bess.”
“And I you. Indeed I am coming in. Such news—you’ll never guess in your whole life, Cora.”
“You’re going to get a new machine!”
“No, not yet, though I think we will next season. Papa is sort of softening toward a six cylinder. No, but it’s almost as good as that.”
“What is it, dear?” and Cora placed her arm around the waist of Bess, as they mounted the broad steps.
“Cora Kimball, we’re going to take a cottage at Lookout Beach! Such a delightful place—and Cora dear,” she panted on, “can you come? Will you come?”
“Shall I come? Should I come,” went on Cora, teasingly. “Why, my dear,” she went on, “do sit down, and catch your breath before it escapes further. The boys are around here somewhere, and they are always on the still hunt for——”
“Cora Kimball! I’m not one bit out of breath,” panted Bess, “but I am just dying to tell you——”