Minot tried to think of some sprightly remark, but his usually agile tongue remained silent. What was the matter with him? Why should this girl seem different, somehow, from all the other girls he had ever met? When he looked into her eyes a flood of memories--a little sad--of all the happy times he had ever known overwhelmed him. Memories of a starlit sea--the red and white awnings of a yacht--the wind whispering through the trees on a hillside--an orchestra playing in the distance--memories of old, and happy, far-off things--of times when he was even younger, even more in love with life. Why should this be? He wondered. And the girl, looking at him, wondered, too--was he suddenly bereft of his tongue? "I haven't asked you the conventional question?" she said at last. "How do you like Florida?" "It's wonderful, isn't it?" Minot replied, coming to with a start. "I can speak of it even more enthusiastically than any of the railroad folders do. And yet, it's only recent--my discovery of its charms." "Really?" "Yes. When I was surveying it on that stopwatch of a train, my impression of it was quite unfavorable. It seemed so monotonous. I told myself nothing exciting could ever happen here." "And--something has happened?" "Yes--something certainly has happened." She blushed a little at his tone. Young men usually proposed to her the first time they saw her. Why shouldn't she blush--a little? "Something very fine," Minot went on. "And I am surely very grateful to fate--" "Would you mind looking at your watch--please?" "Certainly. A quarter after twelve. As I was saying--" "Do you think we can make it?" "I am sure of it." "You see, it is so very important. I want so very much to be there by one o'clock." "And I want you to." "I wonder--if you really knew--" "Knew what?" "Nothing. I wish you would, please--but you just did look at your watch, didn't you?" They rattled on down that road that was so sandy, so uninteresting, so lonely, with only a garage advertisement here and there to suggest a world outside. Suddenly the driver ventured a word over his shoulder. "Don't worry, lady," he said. "We'll get there sure." And even as he spoke the car gave a roar of rage and came to a dead stop. "Oh, dear--what is it now?" cried the girl. "Acts like the train," commented Minot. The driver got out and surveyed the car without enthusiasm. "I wonder what she's up to now?" he remarked. "Fifteen years I drove horses, which are supposed to have brains, but this machine can think of things to do to me that the meanest horse never could." "You promised, driver," pleaded the girl. "We must reach San Marco on time. Mr.--er--your watch?" "Twenty-five past twelve," smiled Minot. The native descended to the dust and slid under the car. In a moment he emerged, triumphant. "All O.K." he announced. "Don't you worry, lady. It's San Marco or bust." "If only something doesn't bust," Minot said.