CHAPTER XX
THE FREE WOMAN
Before breakfast, Claire darted down to the hotel yard. She beamed at Milt, who was lacing a rawhide patch on a tire, before she remembered that they were not on speaking terms. They both looked extremely sheepish and young. It was Pinky Parrott who was the social lubricant. Pinky was always on speaking terms with everybody. "Ah, here she is! The little lady of the mutinous eyes! Our colonel of the flivver hussars!"
But he got no credit. Milt straightened up and lumbered, "Hel-lo!"
She peeped at him and whispered, "Hel-lo!"
"Say, oh please, Claire—— I didn't mean——"
"Oh, I know! Let's—let's go have breakfast."
"Was awfully afraid you'd think we were fresh, but when we came in last night, and saw your car—didn't like the looks of the hotel much, and thought we'd stick around."
"I'm so glad. Oh, Milt—yes, and you, Mr. Parrott—will you whip—lick—beat up—however you want to say it—somebody for me?"
With one glad communal smile Milt and Pinky curved up their wrists and made motions as of pulling up their sleeves.