“Where’s my autymobile, Henry? We left her right out there didn’t we?”
We goes out and looks around. There’s the tracks we made when we came in, and there’s the tracks where it went out, and back down the road. Calamity scratches his head, and hitches up his pants.
“Henry,” says he, “I’m sorry. What yuh going to lead that pe-rade in now?”
I simply shakes my head, and says to myself:
“That’s going to be a well-led pe-rade. She’s already got two front ends.”
“Henry,” says Calamity, pointing at the dust, “they just missed that gate-post as they goes out and they didn’t get on to the road for a hundred yards. I’d opine that they ain’t familiar with the thing.”
“Was there anything left under the seat?” I asks.
“One two-gallon jug, Henry—and what was left in ours.”
“There is much to look forward to, Calamity,” says I. “Maybe we better take a shovel along. I hope they don’t bust up your machine.”
“Don’t let that molest your heart strings, Henry. I been thinking for several days thay maybe she’s going to be a fatal fad. Of course it’s going to spoil my entry into Paradise. A person of my financial standing hadn’t ought to enter his old home town except in a fitting equipage. Ain’t I right, Henry?”