"Whatever you mean by that is too deep for me," she said, adding bitterly, "Yours is a one-boy top, I presume." He waived the point and asked where she preferred to make her début as an automobilist. "Back roads, by all means," she answered. As we gained the street a pea-green Mammoth purred past, the passengers putting out their heads to look at us. "Goodness!" she sighed. "There go the John Quincy Burtons now." "We can soon join them," said Todd confidently. She expostulated. "Do you think I have no pride?" Yet we went in pursuit of the John Quincy Burton dust-cloud as it moved toward the park. "Since you have no regard for my feelings," said she, "you may let me out." "Oh, no, Amanda, my dear. Why, I'm going to give you a spin to Mountaindale!" "I do not care to be dragged there," she declared. "That is where the John Quincy Burtons ride." "Aren't they nice people? It seems to me I've heard you sing hosannas to their name these last twenty years." They were nice people indeed. That was just it, she said. Did he suspect her of yearning to throw herself in the way of nice people on the day of her abasement? If he chose to ignore her sentiments in the matter, he might at least consider his own interests. Had he forgotten that John Quincy Burton was chairman of the board of trustees of the college? Would the head of the department of classical languages acquire merit in Mr. Burton's eyes through dashing about under Mr. Burton's nose in a pitiable little last-century used car that squeaked? Todd gripped the wheel tighter and gave me gas. "You missed that storm sewer by an inch!" she exclaimed. "My aim is somewhat wild yet," he admitted. "Perhaps I'll get the next one." "Jay-eems!" "My dear, we have a horn, remember." "You did not see that baby carriage until we were right upon it! Don't tell me you did, sir, for I know better." "I saw it," said Todd, "and I was sure it wouldn't run over us. As you see, it didn't. Trust a baby carriage my love." His humour, she informed him, was on a par with his driving. Also it was in poor taste at such a moment. In time of danger, he replied, the brave man jests. We were now in the park. We clipped a spray of leaves off a syringia bush. On a curve we slid in loose gravel to the wrong side. "James Todd!" "Yes, my dear?" "Let me out! I decline to be butchered to make a holiday for a motormaniac." "Don't talk to the motormaniac," said Todd. She clutched a top support and gasped for breath, appalled at his audacity, or my speed, or both. In the straight reaches I could see the Burton Mammoth a quarter of a mile ahead. When it swung into the broad avenue that leads to the mountain, we were holding our own. "You are following them--deliberately," said Mrs. Todd. "Yet not so deliberately, at that. Do you feel us pick up my dear, when I give her gas? Aha!" he laughed. "I agree with you, however, that the order of precedence is unsatisfactory. Why should we follow the Burtons, indeed?"