“True,” she assented; “still in personifying inanimate objects, are they not more frequently made members of the other sex?” “Undoubtedly they are, but it strikes me as a ridiculous custom--particularly in the case of great machines. No engine, however big, black or ungainly, but it must be spoken of by the feminine pronoun. It is hardly a compliment to your sex, is it? Think of the incongruity of putting, for instance, a huge steamboat, named for the president of the company, into the feminine gender!” She laughed at my fancy, but her merriment did not wound my sensibilities. “So it's--I beg pardon, _his_--name is Antaeus, is it?” “Yes, in honor of that old giant--do you recollect?--whom Hercules overcame.” “By lifting him quite off the ground, because as often as he came in contact with Mother Earth his strength was renewed? Yes, I recall the story, and I can see a certain propriety in the name. I rather think this fellow, if he were to be lifted off the ground, could scarcely use his great strength to advantage. Imagine him turned upon his back like a huge beetle, kicking about frantically into the air to no purpose!” “Undoubtedly he gets his grip from his contact with the earth,” said I. “As a flying-machine he would hardly be a success.” “Doesn't it strike you that he is almost unnecessarily deliberate?” she queried, presently, with a slight show of impatience; evidently the novelty of the adventure was beginning to wear off. “More so than usual for the reason that we are ascending an incline; but you must remember that Antaeus was not built for speed,” returned I, defending my friend. “Evidently not. He belongs to the plodders--the slow and sure sort. He would be entered for a race in the tortoise class probably. Fancy an absconding cashier trying to escape from justice in a steam-roller! It would be funny, wouldn't it?” I agreed with her that it would be very funny. “Or imagine an eloping couple fleeing before an irate father on such a conveyance!” I suggested, with a consciousness of blushing in the dark for the audacity of the conceit. “Now, that is good!” she exclaimed, seizing on my idea with an eagerness that showed how far her thoughts were from taking the direction in which mine had dared to stray. “What a situation for a modern realistic, sensational drama!” “It might be worked up into something rather impressive, I should think. In these days of bringing steamboats, pile-drivers, fire-engines, real water, and railway trains in upon the stage I don't know why a steam-roller might not be given a chance.” “Why not?” she cried, waxing enthusiastic. “Picture the scene. Enter lovers on 'steam-roller, followed by incensed father in--in----” “In an electric-car,” I supplied experimentally.