“Here, Vic!” cried Patricia. “You take the wheel!”
“Delighted, I am sure!” cried Vic, climbing into the seat. “Get in here, Patsy. All set, Colonel,” he added, saluting to the officer in command of the parade, and again the column broke into cheering as they moved off to the tap of the drum, Rupert's elegant Hudson Six taking a place immediately following the band.
“All my life I have longed for the spotlight,” murmured Vic to his companion, a delighted grin on his face. “But one can have too much of a good thing. And, with Wellington, I am praying that night may come before I reach the haunts of my comrades in arms.”
“Why, Vic, do you care?” cried Patricia. “Not I! And I think it was just splendid of Adrien!”
“Oh, topping! But did you see the gentle Rupert's face? Oh, it was simply priceless! Fancy this sacred car leading a strikers' parade.” And Vic's body shook with delighted chuckles.
“Don't laugh, Vic!” said Patricia, laying her hand upon his arm. “The lady behind will see you.”
“Steady it is,” said Vic. “But I feel as if I were the elephant in the circus. I say, can we execute a flank movement, or must we go through to the bitter end?”
“Adrien,” said Patricia, “do you think this night air is good for the baby?”
“We shall go on a bit yet,” said Adrien. “Mrs. Egan is very tired and I am sure will want to go home presently.”
But Mrs. Egan was beginning to recover her strength and, indeed, to enjoy the new distinction of riding in a car, and in this high company.