ifference, even though by the time we reached there I was bristling
with rage at sight of the doings of Caspian in the Grayles-Grice. We
were trailing in the rear, so the troublous events and turbid emotions
of the cars ahead were visible to us, as if they had been uncovered
saucepans boiling over on a redhot stove. Fancy that Caspian creature
practically ordering Storm out to buy newspapers, as if he were a
chauffeur! But Jack consoled me: "Before you explode, stop and think
what would have been the effect on you if Jimmy Payne had done that with
poor old Brown."

Of course, I should have ached to box Jimmy's ears, and all my loyalty
would have flowed out in waves to Brown; so perhaps Pat--but to go back
to Yonkers. It makes the name sound less unsympathetic and like a frog's
croak to recall that it was given when the Yonk Heer Vredryck Flypse, or
Philipse (he who called New York "a barren island"), the richest and
most important man of his day, from New York to Tarrytown, built one of
his manor houses there. It's still there, by the way, and lots of other
historic things, if one bothers to stop and dig them up, instead of
dashing through with an admiring glance at the jolly modern houses, more
conspicuous than the old.

We had a full day before us, what with worshipping at Washington
Irving's shrine, and sighing over Sing Sing, and arriving at West Point
in time for dress parade and to hear the sunset gun. So we flew fast
through lovely Hastings-on-Hudson, and Irvington, over a silk-smooth
surface, under an adorable avenue of trees which perhaps remembered the
Revolution; past exquisite places where only exquisite people ought to
live, to Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown. It seems sacrilege to arrive in
autos and a hurry at a town with a name so deliciously lazy, to say
nothing of its associations. But one can't help being modern!

I wonder if the comfortable Dutch settlers who pottered along this old
Albany Post Road ever dreamed nightmare dreams of creatures like us,
tearing in strange machines over surfaces magnificently bricked or
oiled, and covering in one day distances to which they would prayerfully
have devoted weeks? Probably they would have pitied and despised rather
than envied us; and maybe they'd have been right: for does the extra
ozone and the thrill of speed quite make up for things missed or half
seen? Still, _impressions_ are wonderful; and I shan't forget the
bluebell colour of distant hills, the silve