"Haven't counted, Grandpa," mocked the girl. "We haven't pulled many petting parties, though."
"Well, I'm good-and-be-damned," muttered Osterhout.
"Modern stuff, Bob," remarked Mona.
"Being an ancient fossil, I'd say dangerous stuff with a fellow like Jameson James."
"Not with a girl like me," returned Dee with superb assurance. "Bee-lieve muh, I've got a hand on the emergency brake every minute."
Osterhout, who had returned to his window seat, gave a sharp exclamation.
"What's the matter now?"
He rubbed his cheek, growling. A hoarse, childish voice from below, which had in it some echo of Mona Fentriss's lyric and alluring tones, served to answer the question:
"Where did I hit you, old Bobs?"
"It's the Scrub," said Dee.