"Oh, Daddy," shrieked Tabitha's voice from the rear seat. "Let go, oh, let go! Mr. Haskell, you'll be killed!"
"Myra, you chump!" hissed Gwynne in her ear. "Shut that thing off! The rope's bu'sted and you are dragging our precious men folks uphill."
Myra glanced hastily behind her, reversed the wheel, and as the car came to a standstill, she sprawled across the seat, doubled up with merriment, half hysterical. "Oh, didn't they look funny hanging onto that rope? What fools some mortals be! Why didn't they let go? Bet Dad's got his nose skinned good, for when I looked back, he was plowing up the road on his head. Is he hurt? I don't dast to ask! Mr. Catt, your clothes are pretty dusty."
"Dusty I'll admit, but not very pretty," he smiled grimly, as he wiped the perspiration from his grimy face. "However, you got the car out of the rut, so perhaps we can proceed on our way now."
"Then it might be wise if I resigned my seat to the chauffeur before I am requested," chuckled Myra, still laughing immoderately at thought of her father's undignified attitude as he was dragged through the dust, clinging desperately to the frayed end of the broken rope. So she scrambled nimbly to her place on the running board, and there Mr. Haskell found her sitting prim and decorous when he had finally recovered his breath and made himself sufficiently presentable to face the rest of the party.
"Your nose is a little—soiled," she told him, as he climbed stiffly into his seat, "and somewhat scrubbed, I'm afraid."
Her voice shook a little in spite of her efforts to control her mirth, and he scowled darkly at his irrepressible daughter, though he only said, "Are you all ready?"
So again the procession of autos took up their journey, and with no further accident finally reached the great walnut ranch where the Haskell family lived during the summer. The rosy, smiling mother greeted them from the veranda as the cars rolled up the smooth driveway and unloaded at the door. "You are late," she said cheerily. "Did you have any mishaps? I knew you would be hungry after your long ride, so we are serving dinner early. Dave, did you get the squabs all right?"
"Yes, he did," Myra answered. "I sat on them all the way out here. Dad, bring on the 'eats'. Why, what is the matter?"
Mr. Haskell stood in the driveway frowning heavily at the car, much as he might have done at a naughty little boy. At Myra's boisterous call, he raised his eyes and inquired, "Where are the 'eats'?"