“How?”
“Might have run plumb into that chauffeur.”
“Wouldn’t have bothered me in the least,” said George, calmly. “I made up my mind to see Poughkeepsie, and I’m going,” and again he spoke in a tone which indicated that he was accustomed to having his own way.
“Automobiling is a jolly fine sport, isn’t it?” said Aleck.
“Yes, when everything goes all right,” laughed George. “But I’ve seen times when I thought it pretty stupid.”
“In what way?”
“Well—a busted tire; or something the matter with the machinery, and nothing to keep you company but a lot of rocks and trees. Here’s the post-office; I’ll stop and scribble a line to Uncle Dan.”
“And me for a postal card home,” said Aleck.
The writing was done in a remarkably short time, and the two were soon driving along the principal street.
“I’m tired of dodging cars and wagons,” said George, at length. “We’ll get out in the country and put on a bit of speed.”