“No–no,” she spoke rapidly. “I haven’t any–I mean they won’t worry about me. I am used to looking after myself.”
Truly she seemed so, and now she appeared even more self-reliant as she stood there in the glare of the lamps of the auto. Her face had lost some of the traces of hopeless despair, and she had somehow managed to get rid of the evidences of the tears. The boys wondered how she did it, for it was rather like a magician’s trick, “done in full view of the audience.” Jack and Ed paid a mental tribute to her accomplishment in using a handkerchief.
“Are you sure you are comfortable there?” the girl asked Ed, as he crouched partly on the floor of the car, with his feet on the run-board.
“Quite,” he affirmed, not altogether truthfully, but at least gallantly.
“It seems so selfish of me, that really—”
“Say, Ed’s all right!” cried Jack, gaily. “He’d rather ride on the run-board than anywhere else; wouldn’t you, old man?”
“Sure!”
“In fact, he often sits there when there’s a vacant seat. It’s a hobby of his. I’ve tried to break him of it, but he is hopeless!”
“Now I know you’re poking fun at me!” she exclaimed, and she laughed lightly. “I’ve almost a notion—”
She made a motion as though to alight.