"Looks like a hand-organ
man grinding away for pennies," said George, as the runabout turned
the corner and into National Avenue. "I'll still take a horse, any
day."
He was not so cocksure, half an hour later, on an open road, when a
siren whistle wailed behind him, and before the sound had died away,
Eugene's car, coming from behind with what seemed fairly like one long
leap, went by the runabout and dwindled almost instantaneously in
perspective, with a lace handkerchief in a black-gloved hand
fluttering sweet derision as it was swept onward into minuteness--a
mere white speck--and then out of sight.
George was undoubtedly impressed. "Your Father does know how to drive
some," the dashing exhibition forced him to admit. "Of course
Pendennis isn't as young as he was, and I don't care to push him too
hard. I wouldn't mind handling one of those machines on the road like
that, myself, if that was all there was to it--no cranking to do, or
fooling with the engine. Well, I enjoyed part of that lunch quite a
lot, Lucy.
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