“Beg pardon, sir,” mumbled the bewildered Graves.
He raised the curtains, vacated the car immediately and stood at a stiff salute while Dan handed Tamea into the luxurious interior. As he followed her in he turned to Graves and growled, “Scoundrel! You shall pay dearly for this.” A lightning wink took the sting out of his words, however, and caused Graves to bow his head in simulated humiliation; nevertheless the faithful fellow could not forbear one final effort. Just before he closed the door upon them he switched off the dome light. As he did so he saw Tamea’s hand slip into Dan Pritchard’s.
“All I ask,” Graves murmured a moment later to the oil gage, “is that Miss Morrison don’t get her lamps on them two. She don’t seem to have no success gettin’ him to fall for her, but along comes this Portugee or gipsy or somethin’ with an accordion on her arm, and the jig is up. She’s dressed like a North Beach wop woman that’s married a fisherman, but she tells him she’s a queen and wants to step out with him in his automobile. Right away he falls for her. Bing! Bang! And they’re off in a cloud of dust. Ain’t it the truth? When these quiet birds do step out they go some!”
There was a buzzing close to his left ear.
“Sailing directions,” murmured Graves and inclined his ear toward the annunciator.
“Home, Graves!” said the voice of Daniel Pritchard.
Graves quivered as if mortally stung, but out of the chaos of his emotions the habit of years asserted itself. He nodded to indicate that he had received his orders and understood them, and the car rolled away down the Embarcadero.
“Now,” murmured the hapless Graves, addressing the speedometer, “I know he’s crazy! Of course I can stand it, Sooey Wan won’t give a hoot and Julia probably won’t let on she’s saw anything out of the way, but Mrs. Pippy’ll give notice p. d. q. and quit quicker’n that. . . . Well, I should worry and grow a lot of gray hairs.”
He tooled the car carefully through rough cobbled streets which ordinarily he would have avoided, and by a circuitous route reached Dan Pritchard’s house in Pacific Avenue. “I’ll be shot if I’ll pull up in front to unload them,” he resolved, and darted in the automobile driveway, nor paused until the car was in the garage! As he reached for the hand brake the annunciator buzzed again; again Graves inclined a rebellious ear.
“While appreciating tremendously the sentiments that actuate you, Graves,” came Dan Pritchard’s calm voice, “the fact is that my garage is scarcely a fitting place in which to unload a lady. Back out into the street and so maneuver the car that we will be enabled to alight at the curb in front of the house.”