From Easton we drive north and northwest to Wilmington over fine roads. The State of Maryland is improving her roads and will in a few years have highways that will be among the finest in the country, while her scenery is that of a smiling country becoming more and more cultivated. On from Wilmington to Philadelphia and from Philadelphia out to Byrn Mawr; and from the parked and shaded beauty of Byrn Mawr over the rolling farming country of Pennsylvania with its beautiful cultivation and its substantial stone farmhouses, up through Trenton and Newark and across the ferry to New York. We are once more on the Lincoln Highway as we travel northeast from Philadelphia. It is a joy to travel again by the familiar red, white, and blue signs. We know the pleasant open country of New Jersey through which the noble Highway runs for these last miles, and are at last At Home. CHAPTER XIII The Lincoln Highway is destined to be a much-traveled road. Already the motorists of the West are turning the hoods of their motor cars to face the East and the motorists of the East are starting Westward. Happy is the man who has his hotel or inn situated on the road marked by the red, white, and blue. The traveler is bound to come his way, and the traveler is bound to alight at his door if only he has something to offer that is worthy of the name of hospitality. But he can no longer afford to be careless. There is an unwritten rule of the open road which reads that the traveler shall tell his fellow traveler of places at which to halt and of places to avoid. It is inevitable that in the course of a short time the slovenly and careless inn-keeper must be supplanted by a better man. The tourist does not enjoy looking out of his hotel window on piles of old tin cans and heaps of barrel staves and discarded packing boxes. Nor does he enjoy looking at mounds of ashes, and quantities of vegetable parings. He will not long endure a soiled table cloth, horrible green tea, and indifferently cooked food. Nor will he endure a lack of hot water and utterly careless sanitary arrangements. He may say little about them to the landlord who entertains his party, but he will very soon see to it that better inns take the place of the old ones of careless and indifferent management. The hotel keeper congratulates himself that his open door looks out on the Lincoln Highway, and that his own sign proudly bears the three distinguishing bars of red, white, and blue. He must have more than this to make his inn a success. It is surprising how fast the news of a clean, well kept inn, with excellently cooked food, travels from mouth to mouth.