e purplest patches was a secret expedition to the
end of Montauk Point. I thought at first it was remarkable of him not
only to consent but to applaud the idea that Ed Caspian should lead the
way. Earlier, he had seemed to do all he could to spurn and outdistance
the Wilmot with the Grayles-Grice. Mr. Caspian is very proud of the
Wilmot (though I hear a rumour that he's been taking mysterious lessons
how to drive a G.-G.), so proud that he suspected nothing when, without
dissent from any quarter, he was allowed to head our procession.

At the start everything was beautiful. Jack was quite entertaining and
instructive to the honeymooners and me about the meaning and derivation
of the word Montauk which used to be spelled in any old way you liked,
from Meantauket (which meant "fortified town") to Muttaag (pillar or
ensign), or Manatuck (high land). It seemed that one of the Indians'
inclosures, called the New Fort, was still standing in 1662, when Long
Island was beginning to think itself quite smart and civilized. That was
nice to learn, practically on the spot. We were chatting about the few
Indians who exist to this day on Long Island (rather mixed up with
negroes) and admiring the gorgeous golden dunes, and gorgeouser goldener
gorse when suddenly bump! bump! The moderately bad road became
immoderately awful. At this spot some disillusioned motorist had
revengefully printed on a proud sign-post the classic words: "Damn Bad
Road." We were forced to believe him. And at that instant, as if to
emphasize the description, millions of mosquitoes the size of
humming-birds attacked us. How the Indians stood them, goodness knows,
but perhaps they put up with the pests because they helped keep off the
enemy.

All the females of our party uttered uncensored cries, demanding retreat
at any price; but Ed Caspian, hearing these wails, turned upon us with
taunts. Close behind him came the Grayles-Grice, Peter Storm at the
wheel. "Let the ladies come into my car, Mr. Storm," said he, "and they
won't notice the jolts."

"Certainly, if they like," Peter consented.

"We _don't_ like, thanks!" replied all the Goodrich giantesses as one.
Pat didn't answer, but had the air of a captain intending to sink with
the ship.

"Oh, very well, _I_ shall see this through," remarked our noble leader.
"One can go anywhere with a Wilmot, even to--the devil!"

That wasn't the way he meant to end his sentence, _bien entendu_. But
just then he plumpe