“Which I intend to do some day, Mr. Smartie!” cried the bronze-haired girl.
“Oh, I believe you!” responded Billy, who was nothing if not a tease. “And then we’ll see her riding around town with her nose in the air—worse than even Nature ever intended,” he added, with a sly glance at the tip of Miss Parker’s pretty nose, which really was a little tip-tilted!
“All right for you, Billy Speedwell,” Miss Parker declared. “You shall never ride in my car when I do get it.”
“No. I sha’n’t want to. I’d rather be somewhere up near the head of the procession,” said the teasing Billy.
“Say!” cried Lettie, in a heat, “you don’t call this being at the head of the procession, do you? We’re number three, all right, and there are none to follow.”
“Run her up a little, Dannie!” begged Wiley Moyle. “That Chance Avery is pulling ahead as though he was already running for the golden cup.”
“I didn’t know this was to be a motor race,” laughed Dan, quietly putting the lever up a notch. “I thought we were out for pleasure.”
“Well, it’s no pleasure to be behind everybody else, and taking their dust,” complained Lettie Parker.
“Be careful, Dan, no matter what they say to you,” said Mildred Kent, warningly, in her quiet way. “You know, our mothers all expect us to get safely home again.”
The Greene automobile, which was a heavy, practical family touring car, was being put to its best pace. Chance Avery was running away from the party, being already half a mile, or more, ahead of the Greenes.