But so was Janet and she hastened downstairs and joined them. The sedan was one of those extra-broad stream-lined cars with room for three in the front seat.
“You and Helen can sit up front with me while your mother and Mrs. Thorne are in the back seat,” said her father. “Coming back we’ll put the Thornes in the back where they can visit to their heart’s content.”
The car rolled down the drive and her father turned and stopped the large, low machine in front of the Thorne home. Half a dozen lights were turned on downstairs and the house fairly glowed with light.
Helen and her mother came down the walk, Helen in a pink, fluffy creation that set off her dark coloring to its best effect.
“You’re pretty enough to look like a would-be movie star trying to make an impression upon a famous director,” whispered Janet.
“Maybe I am,” smiled Helen as she slipped into the front seat.
“Everybody ready?” inquired Janet’s father. “I don’t want to get half way to Rubio and have one of you women remember that you’ve left something important at home.”
“You do the driving and we’ll worry about what’s been left at home,” replied Mrs. Hardy with a chuckle.
The big machine rolled away smoothly and when they turned onto the main state road to Rubio, John Hardy stepped on the accelerator and they fairly flew down the straight, white ribbon which unrolled before their blazing lights.
The speedometer climbed steadily, fifty, sixty and then seventy miles an hour, and the needle hung there except when they swung around one of the broad, well-banked curves. Then it dropped to fifty.