to take a trolley trip to
Oshkosh on. Don't count too high."

"I'm not counting at all, Blackie, and you can't discourage me."

"Don't want to. But I'd hate to see you come down with a thud." Suddenly
he sat up and a grin overspread his thin face. "Tell you what we'll do,
girlie. We'll celebrate. Maybe it'll be the last time. Let's pretend
this is six months ago, and everything's serene. You get your bonnet.
I'll get the machine. It's too hot to work, anyway. We'll take a spin
out to somewhere that's cool, and we'll order cold things to eat, and
cold things to drink, and you can talk about yourself till you're tired.
You'll have to take it out on somebody, an' it might as well be me."

Five minutes later, with my hat in my hand, I turned to find Peter at my
elbow.

"Want to talk to you," he said, frowning.

"Sorry, Peter, but I can't stop. Won't it do later?"

"No. Got an assignment? I'll go with you."

"N-not exactly, Peter. The truth is, Blackie has taken pity on me and
has promised to take me out for a spin, just to cool off. It has been so
insufferably hot."

Peter turned away. "Count me in on that," he said, over his shoulder.

"But I can't, Peter," I cried. "It isn't my party. And anyway--"

Peter turned around, and there was an ugly glow in his eyes and an ugly
look on his face, and a little red ridge that I had not noticed before
seemed to burn itself across his forehead. "And anyway, you don't want
me, eh? Well, I'm going. I'm not going to have my wife chasing all over
the country with strange men. Remember, you're not the giddy grass widdy
you used to be. You can take me, or stay at home, understand?"

His voice was high-pitched and quavering. Something in his manner struck
a vague terror to my heart. "Why, Peter, if you care that much I shall
be glad to have you go. So will Blackie, I am sure. Come, we'll go down
now. He'll be waiting for us."

Blackie's keen, clever mind grasped the situation as soon as he saw us
together. His dark face was illumined by one of his rare smiles. "Coming
with us, Orme? Do you good. Pile into the tonneau, you two, and hang on
to your hair. I'm going to smash the law."

Peter sauntered up to the steering-wheel. "Let me drive," he said. "I'm
not bad at it."

"Nix with the artless amateur," returned Blackie. "This ain't no
demonstration car. I drive my own little wagon when I go riding, and I
intend to until I take my last ride, feet first."

Peter muttered somet