“Pull up!” he bellowed hoarsely, crouching forward over his tiller still lower. He dropped his hand to the emergency brake. The cut was not six rods off. Once more the girls cried out, but this time in shrill fear. Miss Herron remained calm as the Sphinx.
“Honk!” from Mayer, and the click of levers. His machine slid along in a cloud of dust. “You win!”
It was ten minutes before the victors exchanged a single word. They rattled over the long bridge, steered up the streets of Oldport to the place where the Daughters were in session. Then Archie lay back with a sigh.
“You weren’t scared a bit!” he exclaimed, frankly doleful.
The old lady straightened her hat, lightly brushed off the top layer of dust from the front of her dress, then gave the briefest of queer little laughs. “It is one of the traits of my family,” she said, “never to be surprised at anything. And another,” she added, descending majestically from the automobile, “is to make the best of circumstances which appear to be inevitable.”
The boy blinked. “I don’t understand,” he stammered.
Miss Herron touched him on the arm. “I trust, then, that Lucy will express herself to you more clearly. In case—if you should venture to ask her a question.”
And with that the old lady minced her way up the steps of the house to disappear within doors.
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Archie, as the light began to break.