Everybody was "out for a good time." The air was like a tonic; the park like a panorama. Between the capes of shrubbery and across the lawns, and about the thronged pavilion and along the governed paths, the evening breeze floated like a lily-breath, slow and cool and sweet.
"Well, here we are," said the driver, parking his taxi at the end of a long row of vehicles in front of the pavilion. "Sorry you come, now, ain't you? Yes, you are—not! Hey, don't knock a hole in the hood of my rig, just because you think you're done with me."
Daisy had popped out of her seat so quickly that she had bumped her head against the auto-top. Her spirits were at such a pitch of ecstasy that, in her haste to open the fore-door, she jammed the catch. She hauled and wrenched vainly at it, while her companion sat and grinned.
"Kind of a combination lock, huh, kid?" he observed, his eyes wrinkling and his shoulders shaking a little—his way of expressing merriment.
"Don't talk crazy," Daisy sat up, sucking a finger she had pinched in the mechanism. "Get this thing open!"
"Aw, no," the chauffeur was enjoying himself hugely; "let's just set here. We don't want to—hi, there!"
For Daisy had squirmed agilely out over the top of the door. In doing this, she had accidentally pushed the catch the right way; so that, as she jumped down from the running-board, the door came docilely open under her hand.
"That ain't stylish," remarked the taxi-driver, climbing out. "In this town, we open the door before we get out—not after. Come on, then, friend, and buy me a drink. You said you had a dime, didn't you?"
"Where is the dance?" said Daisy, looking about her delightedly as they ascended the broad flight of steps leading into the pavilion.
"Nobody ever dances till after they have a nut sundae or something," was the comment of her escort, "I'll race you upstairs, partner."