"Paul—er—is he—"
"Yes, he is," admitted Cora with a laugh. "The youth of the garage."
"Well, I don't remember a thing he said," confessed Elizabeth; "but
Paul—who could forget Paul? Didn't he have nice teeth?"
"And so polite," added Belle.
"Wasn't he just splendid?" concluded Cora. "And such a number of things that he told me. But come on, get in," and she slowed down the motor somewhat, while, removing a pair of buckskin gloves from her long, tapering hands, she produced a small, dainty handkerchief and rubbed a spot of black grease from her aristocratic nose.
"Got that when I was oiling the rear wheels," she explained.
The twins entered the tonneau, neither of them caring to risk riding on the front seat just yet.
Cora speeded the motor up a bit, glanced behind to see that the tonneau door was securely fastened, and then pulled the speed lever and threw in the clutch. The car started forward as smoothly as if Paul himself were at the wheel.
Elizabeth's hand flew to her hat, which tilted backward in the wind. They had not yet secured their motor "togs," and regulation hats were so difficult to manage.
"Oh, isn't this glorious!" cried Isabel.