"Rather." Roberts got to his feet deliberately. "Some other time I'll tell you the story, if you wish. It would take too long now, and it's entirely too hot here." He looked at his two listeners impartially. "Besides, there's other business more urgent. I have a curiosity to see how quickly the six-eighty out there will eat up thirty miles. It's guaranteed to do it in twenty-five minutes. Won't you come along? "I'll take the rumble and you two sit forward," he added as they hesitated. "You can drive as well as I can, Elice." "Not to-day; some other time," declined Armstrong, hurriedly. He started up to avoid a change of purpose, and to cover any seeming precipitancy lit a cigarette with deliberation. "I was going, really, anyway." Roberts did not insist, nor did he dissimulate. "As you wish. I meant it or I shouldn't have made the suggestion. Better glue on your hair if you accept, Elice. I have a presentiment that I'll let her out to-day." He started down the walk. "I'm ready when you are." Behind him the man and the girl exchanged one look. "Come, Steve," said the girl in a low voice. "I ask it." "No," Armstrong's thin face formed a smile, a forced, crooked smile; "I meant what I said, too, or I wouldn't have refused. Likewise I also have a presentiment--of a different kind. Good-bye." "Steve!" "No." And that was all. Out in the long street, University Row, glided the big red roadster; slowly through the city limits, more rapidly through the suburbs, then, as the open country beyond came to view, it began gradually to find itself. "Want to see her go, do you, Elice?" asked Roberts, as the town behind them grew indistinct in a fog of dust. "Yes, if you wish." "If I wish." Roberts brought the goggles down from his forehead significantly. "If I wish," he repeated, the inflection peculiar. He looked ahead. The broad prairie road, dust white in its July whiteness, stretched straight out before them, without a turn or a curve, direct as the crow flies for forty miles, and on through two counties, as he knew. A light wind, begot of their motion alone, played on their faces, mingled with the throbbing purr of the engine in their ears. "If I wish," for the third time; and notch by notch the throttle began to open. On they went, the self-evolved breeze a gale now, the throb of the big motor a continuous moan, the cloud of dust behind them a dull brown bank against the sky. On they went over convex grades that tilted gently first to the right, then to the left, over culverts that spoke one single note of protest, over tiny bridges that echoed hollow at the impact; past dazzling green cornfields and yellow blocks of ripening grain, through great shadows of homestead groves and clumps of willows that marked the lowest point of swales, on--on-- Roberts leaned over close, but his eyes did not leave the road for the fraction of a second. "Afraid, girl?" he asked. "No."