"To-night," he said, as he settled himself into his seat, "Bill shall have a box of chocolate caramels for dinner. And—say! son, are you cold?"
"Not much," said the boy, looking up at him with a grin. "Just a little; but I keep thinking about that fortune I'm to get and that sort of keeps me warm."
Jimmy opened his overcoat and gathered his driver inside, and pulled up the tattered lap robe and said cheerfully, "Sporting life, this, eh?" But at the same time he was thinking regretfully of his ill-spent afternoon, and more than ever convinced that jests of a public nature were not worth while. And yet, in the midst of his personal discomfort, he did not miss the enjoyment of a chuckle at the thought of what he had left behind, and that fine harvest which the pompous Judge must reap. In fact, he began to find a certain pleasure in his adventure; for the snow stopped, the storm clouds moved restlessly, becoming ever more pallid, and then the newly risen moon broke through and made all his surroundings beautiful.
"The only things I miss," he muttered, "are sleigh bells and—Mary Allen!"
"Mary Allen? Who's she?" The voice of the boy disturbed him.
"Mary Allen," said Jimmy grimly, "is a girl who isn't crazy to vote. She likes horses. Probably she couldn't throw a brick. I've an idea she never had a vote, and that if she had one she'd sell it as being the quickest and easiest way to get rid of it. And—I hope to the Lord that Mary Allen never visited Yimville before now, because if she hasn't, I'll do all I can to spare her from ever going there in the future!"
"I can't seem to remember that haystack over there," said the boy, with entire irrelevance, "but there's a house with a light in it, and—maybe we'd best ask if we're on the right road. They'll tell you."
"Right road? Aren't you sure about it?" asked Jimmy, perturbed.
"Well, you see, it looks different with all this snow and—better ask 'em in there, I think."
"You go and ask them."