“Aren’t you working to-day?” he asked Hazel savagely.
“I had a headache and the doctor said I needed fresh air.”
“Then you better stay outdoors instead of calling on people, if it’s fresh air you are after,” he advised.
Nothing but giggles answered him and they hailed the white clad figure of Owen Pringle, who held up his cane in threatening fashion.
“You sha’n’t have the prettiest girls all to yourself, you old married man,” he threatened. “Do let me sit in the back—”
Unwillingly, Dan halted the car and a new element of disturbance was added.
“We want to call on Thurley Precore,” they told Owen, who was always at his best when his arms were full of girl and some one else was driving the car. “Come along and we’ll ask her to let you design some hats—come on.”
“Joyful, joyful, joyful,” he began in an assumed falsetto, at which Dan drew the car to a standstill and looked around with a frown.
“I don’t wish to call on Thurley,” he said sharply, “as you well know. If you insist on my driving you up to her house, I’ll do so. My wife will call on her when she sees fit.”