"Well, I feels queer inside," said poor Timothy. "I'd rather ride a bucking man-eater than go another yard. Set me down!"
"Not me," said Geordie. "Be a man, Tim!"
"I won't," said Tim. "Set me down. I'll walk."
"Or come on in a cart," sneered Geordie. "Why, Mary here don't mind, do you, Mary?"
Mary did mind, but she adored Geordie, and said she didn't. She preferred to die with Geordie than to ride with Miss Mackarness in a cart.
"I don't care," said Tim; "if Mary wants to die in a blazin' fiery mass of petrol under a wreck, I don't. Let me down."
And Geordie let him down.
"A mad bull sooner," said Tim. "And, though I 'ates walkin', bein' a groom, I'd rather walk to hell than motor into paradise."
But peace was established in the cars by now. Geordie and Mary sat side by side, and whenever the pace was hot, she grabbed him so tightly that he remonstrated.
"My dear, I'd rather you hugged me when we go slow," he said at last.