upants took new lease of interest of life and stared at the young man
and woman in the light rig that barred the way. Billy held up his hand.

"Take the outside, sport," he said to the chauffeur.

"Nothin' doin', kiddo," came the answer, as the chauffeur measured with
hard, wise eyes the crumbling edge of the road and the downfall of the
outside bank.

"Then we camp," Billy announced cheerfully. "I know the rules of the
road. These animals ain't automobile broke altogether, an' if you think
I'm goin' to have 'em shy off the grade you got another guess comin'."

A confusion of injured protestation arose from those that sat in the
car.

"You needn't be a road-hog because you're a Rube," said the chauffeur.
"We ain't a-goin' to hurt your horses. Pull out so we can pass. If you
don't..."

"That'll do you, sport," was Billy's retort. "You can't talk that way to
yours truly. I got your number an' your tag, my son. You're standin' on
your foot. Back up the grade an' get off of it. Stop on the outside at
the first psssin'-place an' we'll pass you. You've got the juice. Throw
on the reverse."

After a nervous consultation, the chauffeur obeyed, and the car backed
up the hill and out of sight around the turn.

"Them cheap skates," Billy sneered to Saxon, "with a couple of gallons
of gasoline an' the price of a machine a-thinkin' they own the roads
your folks an' my folks made."

"Talkin' all night about it?" came the chauffeur's voice from around the
bend. "Get a move on. You can pass."

"Get off your foot," Billy retorted contemptuously. "I'm a-comin' when
I'm ready to come, an' if you ain't given room enough I'll go clean over
you an' your load of chicken meat."

He slightly slacked the reins on the restless, head-tossing animals, and
without need of chirrup they took the weight of the light vehicle and
passed up the hill and apprehensively on the inside of the purring
machine.

"Where was we?" Billy queried, as the clear road showed in front. "Yep,
take my boss. Why should he own two hundred horses, an' women, an' the
rest, an' you an' me own nothin'?"

"You own your silk, Billy," she said softly.

"An' you yours. Yet we sell it to 'em like it was cloth across the
counter at so much a yard. I guess you're hep to what a few more years
in the laundry'll do to you. Take me. I'm sellin' my silk slow every day
I work. See that little finger?" He shifted the reins to one hand for a
moment and held up the free hand