“Mac, I just don’t.”
“You’ll have to give me a better reason than that.”
“You... don’t take this seriously enough.”
“I thought I was plenty serious on the frog safari.”
“Well... Oh! all right. Get in.”
Laurel drove the Austin down to Franklin and turned west, her chin northerly. Macgowan studied her profile in peace.
“La Brea to Third,” he said, “and west on Third to Fairfax. Aye, aye, Skipper?”
“Mac! You’ve looked it up.”
“There’s only one Leatherland, Inc., of Hollywood, California, and it’s in Farmers’ Market.”
“I wish you’d let me drop you!”