"Well, they have individual characteristics. You take the three cars in our barn. The Packard reminds one of that stallion we owned three years ago—blooded and off like the wind. The Franklin is a grayhound—and Little Sister is a—duck——"
"Mr. Dalton's car is a—silver ship——"
"Oh, does he call it that?" grimly.
"No——"
"Was it your own—poetic—idea?"
"Yes."
"And you called Little Sister a duck," he groaned. "And when my little duck swims in the wake of his silver ship, and he laughs, do you laugh, too?"
There was a dead silence. Then she said, "Oh, Randy——"
He made his apology like a gentleman. "That was hateful of me, Becky. I'm sorry——"