the East, and
he is stopping at the Hotel Marion. If you are tired, I will get my
chauffeur."

"I should like it," Corrie exclaimed, rising eagerly. "I'll get the car.
Your car?"

"I should think so. I am not exactly anxious to drive into town with
your racing machine, although we have got to make fair time in order to
catch him before his train leaves."

Corrie laughed, turning away.

"I'll make the time, all right," he promised. "Your roadster isn't so
pretty slow, considering. I'll be at the door in three minutes."

He was, driving hatless and without a motor-mask in the fresh spring
air.

"No overcoat?" Gerard disapproved. "What would Rupert say?"

Corrie flushed like a complimented girl; that the mechanician should
have admitted him to any intercourse, however cold and slight, moved him
so deeply that even Gerard's allusion was too much.

"I have it with me; I don't need it," he evaded hurriedly. "Ready?"

"Ready."

The car sprang forward.

The yellow country road merged into macadam, the macadam into asphalt.
They were in the city, presently, slowly rolling through streets filled
with playing children who garnered the last daylight moments. On one
corner a hand-organ was performing, and the group disporting itself to
the flat, tinkling music broke apart to shout after the car, waving
grimy hands.

"Hello, Mr. Corrie!" one shrill voice came to the motorists.

The driver lifted his hand in salute, glancing at his companion with a
blended mischief and diffidence so delightful, so much like the old
merry Corrie Rose, that Gerard laughed in sheer sympathy of pleasure.

"They seem to know you, Corrie?"

"They do. At least, what they call knowing me. You see, I blew out a
tire here, on the way home after you sent me in to the postoffice, last
week, and about three dozen kiddies gathered around to watch me change
it. Bully little frogs; they nearly lost all the kit of tools trying to
help me. And talk! So I--well, I gave them all a spin about the square,
in blocks of as many as could hang on at a time, and I set up the ice
creams all around. It seemed my treat. You don't mind? I suppose they
_are_ full of germs and want washing, but I just remembered they were
kids."

"I certainly do not mind," Gerard assured. He wanted to say something
more, but found his thoughts singularly inarticulate. There was a
certain verse commencing with "Inasmuch----" that he would have quoted
to Corrie, had they been of