"I don't know that I want the car," Allison answered, kindly. "If I had been a good driver, I could have backed into the turn before you got there and let you whiz by. I'm sorry yours is burned. Won't you take mine?"
"No," answered Romeo, with finality.
"We don't deserve even to ride in one," Juliet remarked. "We ought to have to walk all the rest of our lives."
"You people make me tired," interrupted Doctor Jack. "Just because you've been mixed up in an accident, you're about to get yourselves locoed, as they say out West, on the subject of automobiles. By careful cultivation, you could learn to shy at a baby carriage and throw a fit at the sight of a wheelbarrow. The time to nip that is right at the start."
"How would you do it?" queried Allison. His heart was heavy with dread of all automobiles, past, present, and to come."
"Same way they break a colt. Get him used to the harness, then to shafts, and so on. Now, I can run any car that ever was built—make it stand on its hind wheels if I want to and roll through a crowd without making anybody even wink faster. I think I'll go out and get that one and take the whole bunch of you out for a cure."
Juliet was listening attentively, with her blue eyes wide open and her scarlet lips parted. Doctor Jack was subtly conscious of a new sensation.
"I see," she said. "Romie made me hold snakes by their tails until I wasn't afraid of 'em, and made me kill mice and even rats. Only sissy girls are afraid of snakes and rats. And just because we were both afraid to go by the graveyard at night, we made ourselves do it. We can walk through it now, even if there isn't any moon, and never dodge a single tombstone."
"Was it hard to learn to do it?" asked the doctor. If he was amused, he did not show it now.
"No," Juliet answered, "because just before we did it, we read about it's being called 'God's Acre.' So I told Romie that God must be there as much or more than He was anywhere else, so how could we be afraid?"