"Did you know I was going to be twenty-one next month, Sylvia?" he asked. "No," said Sylvia absently; "that is, I had forgotten. You seem more like eighteen to me." This was a somewhat crushing beginning. But Thomas was not daunted. "I suppose that is because I was older than most when I went to college," he said cheerfully, "but though you're a little bit older, I'm nearer your age than any of the others--much nearer than Austin. Had you ever thought of that?" "No," said Sylvia again, still more absently. "Why should I? I feel about a thousand." "Well, you _look_ about sixteen! Honest, Sylvia, no one would guess you're a day over that, you're so pretty. Has any one ever told you how pretty you are?" "Well, it has been mentioned," said Sylvia dryly, "but I have always thought that it was one of those things that was greatly overestimated." "Why, it couldn't be! You're perfectly lovely! There isn't a girl in Burlington that can hold a candle to you. I've been going out, socially, a lot all winter, and I know. I've been to hops and whist-parties and church-suppers. The girls over there have made quite a little of me, Sylvia, but I've never--" There was a deafening report. Thomas, cursing inwardly, interrupted himself. "We must have had a blow-out," he said, bringing the car to a noisy stop. "Wait a second, while I get out and see." It was all too true. A large nail had passed straight through one of the front tires. He stripped off his ulster, and the coat of his dress-suit, and turned up his immaculate trousers. "You'll have to get up for a minute, while I get the tools from under the seat, Sylvia. I'm awfully sorry.--It's pretty dark, isn't it?--I never changed a tire but once before. Austin's always done that." "Austin's always done almost everything," snapped Sylvia. Then, peering around to the back of the car, "Why don't _you do_ something? What _is_ the matter now?" "The lock on the extra wheel's rusted--you see it hasn't been undone all winter. I can't get it off." "Well, _smash_ it, then! We can't stay here all night." "I haven't got anything to smash it _with_. I must have forgotten to put part of the tools back when I cleaned the car." "Oh, Thomas, you are the most _inefficient_ boy about everything except farming that I ever saw! Let me see if I can't help." She jumped out, her feet, clad in silk stockings and satin slippers, sinking into the mud as she did so. Together for fifteen minutes, rapidly growing hot and angry, they wrestled with the refractory lock. At the end of that time they were no nearer success than they had been in the beginning. "We'll have to crawl home on a flat tire," she said at last disgustedly; "I hope we'll get there for breakfast."