“Oh, Renée tells me we can make it in four days,” says Pinckney, nodding at the chauffeur. “He’s been over the route a dozen times.”
Well, I puts the proposition up to Sadie, expectin’ she’d queer it first jump; but inside of ten minutes she’d planned out just how she could leave little Sully, and what she should wear, and it’s all fixed. I tried to show her where I couldn’t afford to quit the studio for two or three weeks, just at this time of year, when so many of my reg’lars need tunin’ up after their vacations; but my arguments don’t carry much weight.
“Rubbish, Shorty!” says she. “We’ll be back before the end of the week, and Swifty Joe can manage until then. Anyway, we’re not going to miss this lovely weather. We’re going, that’s all!”
“Well,” says I to Pinckney, “I’ve decided to go.”
Now this ain’t any lightnin’ conductor rehash. Bubble tourin’ has its good points, and it has its drawbacks, too. If you’re willin’ to take things as they come along, and you’re travelin’ with the right bunch, and your own disposition’s fair to middlin’, why, you can have a bang up time, just like you could anywhere with the same layout. Also, I’m willin’ to risk an encore to this partic’lar trip any time I get the chance.
But there was something else I was gettin’ at. It don’t turn up until along durin’ the afternoon of our second day out. We was tearin’ along one of them new tar roads between Narragansett Pier and Newport, and I was tryin’ to hand a josh to Renée by askin’ him to be sure and tell me when we went through Rhode Island, as I wanted to take a glance at it,—for we must have been hittin’ fifty an hour, with the engine runnin’ as smooth and sweet as a French clock,—when all of a sudden there’s a bang like bustin’ a paper bag, and we feels the car sag down on one side.
“Sacré!” says Renée through his front teeth.
“Ha, ha!” sings out Pinckney. “My first blow-out!”
“Glad you feel so happy over it,” says I.
It’s a sensation that don’t bring much joy, as a rule. Here you are, skimmin’ along through the country, glancin’ at things sort of casual, same’s you do from a Pullman window, but not takin’ any int’rest in the scenery except in a general way, only wonderin’ now and then how it is people happen to live in places so far away.