"And there's that blooming motor sitting there at four dollars an hour," growled the Codfish. "Three hours and fifteen minutes gone already. I'm bankrupt now and twenty-five miles to go back. I'll be entirely insolvent by the time we turn up in Norfolk." Fifty minutes more passed and Miss Smith and Cousin Mary reappeared on the scene only to exhaust another reel of films photographing the car, the pavilion, a decrepit boat drawn up on the sands, and several sea views. "Cousin Mary is so artistic," explained Miss Smith. "You ought to see some of her sea views, they are just too sweet." "I've enough sea views to last me the rest of my natural life," muttered the Codfish under his breath. "I'm not much for sea views at four dollars an hour." When everything necessary and unnecessary that the girls could think of had been done, the motor was turned in the direction of Norfolk, and set off at, a leisurely pace much to the disgust of the Codfish. The longer the driver took to cover the distance, the more money he made. Time was money to him with a vengeance. On the outskirts of Norfolk, and just as dusk was beginning to settle, the rear shoe gave way with a loud explosion. "How long?" inquired the Codfish, laconically. "I reckon 'bout twenty minutes," replied the driver, at which Miss Smith set up a remonstrance. "We must be home. Mother will think something dreadful has happened. The trolley is only a few blocks from here. We can't wait that long for him to fix the old tire." "All right, then," said the Codfish. "We'll all go, and James, you see us at the hotel after you get fixed up again." He was glad of the opportunity to have the automobile white elephant off his hands, and saw a chance of getting to the hotel and preserving his dignity before the girls. He could get the money he needed as soon as he got back. But his luck was against him in the shape of the darky driver who was both obstinate and suspicious. "Kaint do dat, sah," the driver protested, "last time I do dat, I done get stung. We done been out five hours and a half, dat makes twenty-two dollars, not countin' little something you gwine to give James." "O, Mr. Gleason," cried Miss Smith. "I thought it was your own car." There was a note of reproach in her voice, and the speaker tossed her head. A ride in a hired car didn't seem so luxurious as in a private one. A hasty conference between the two boys resulted in the pooling of all their cash in hand, which amounted to just $16.25. This amount the Codfish offered the driver, who refused it and loudly argued for his rights before a gathering crowd. He would not let his passengers out of his sight, so it was finally arranged that Chalmers should see the young ladies home while he, the Codfish, held as a hostage, hung around for another half hour while the shoe was replaced. He reached the hotel late for dinner, where he borrowed sufficient money to pay the driver.