"Lindaberry'll wreck the car!"
"Don't you know his condition?"
"Miss Baxter, it's suicide!"
Massingale alone did not offer a word.
She put them laughingly away with double-edged words:
"Danger? So much the better! What do I care?"
But she had considerable difficulty in freeing herself. When finally she escaped, laughing, and had made for the entrance, Lindaberry, too, was facing a storm of protest from those who had learned of his proposed escapade.
"I say, Miss Baxter, I'm looked on as a slaughter-house champion here," he said, laughing. "No one particularly cares about my neck, but a good many do about yours! What do you say? Shall we give them the slip?"
"I'm ready!"
"Can't we put up a little bet on this?" he continued triumphantly. "It's now ten minutes before one. Yonkers and back, despite cops, punctures and accidents, in forty minutes! Who'll take me for a hundred, even at that?"