"Dunno," returned Romeo, with a frank yawn. "Guess we were tired.
Anyhow, the machine is all right."
When the milkman came in sight, they hailed him and purchased a quart of milk. He was scarcely surprised to see them, for the Crosbys were widely known to be eccentric, and presently he drove on. His query about the wrecked car had passed unnoticed.
"If you'll stay here, Jule," said Romeo, wiping his mouth, "I'll go and get a team and some rope and we'll get the car in."
"Can't I go too?"
"No, you stay here. It's bad enough to sleep at your post without deserting it."
"You slept, too," retorted Juliet, quickly on the defensive, "and I'm a girl."
"Huh!" he sneered. The claim of feminine privilege invariably disgusted him beyond words.
"Suppose people come by—" Juliet faltered; "and—ask—questions."
"Answer 'em," advised Romeo, briefly. "Tell 'em we've killed a man and are going to suffer for it. We deserve to have everybody know it."
But, fortunately for Juliet's quicker sensibilities, no one passed by in the hour Romeo was gone. He came from the nearest farm with an adequate number of assistants and such primitive machinery as was at hand. The car was not badly damaged and was finally towed into the Crosbys' barn. Then they went into the house and composed a letter to Colonel Kent, but put off copying and sending it until they should be able to get black bordered stationery.