“I can’t stand it any longer,” Betty confided to them one morning when they stood on Mollie’s porch discussing what course of action it would be best to take. “I have a queer feeling that the poor professor is in desperate need of friends, and I don’t believe I’ll be able to sleep another night until I find out something definite about him.” “Won’t he think we are sort of ‘butting in’?” asked Grace, hesitating a little. “He might think we came just out of curiosity.” “I don’t think he would,” said Mollie. “You know he invited us to come back some time when we could stay long enough for him to tell us something about those bugs and butterflies and things he sticks pins into “That’s the idea!” exclaimed Betty quickly. “We won’t have to tell him we know anything about his trouble. If he tells us! why, all right, but if he doesn’t, of course we won’t try to force a confidence. Anyway,” she finished soberly, “we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing we have done our best for him whether it really helps him any or not.” “And we owe him a very great deal,” spoke up Amy softly. “He really saved our lives, you know.” So it was settled, and while the other three girls ran home to put on coats and hats and get ready for the drive, Mollie ran around to the garage and brought her big car to the front of the house. She waved good-bye to her mother, who was trying rather wildly to keep Dodo and Paul from running under the wheels of the car and getting killed, and purred off down the street in the direction of Betty’s house. When she arrived there she was a little surprised to see that Betty was backing her fast little roadster down the drive. To Betty the little car was almost alive, and she talked to it as she would have to some loved horse or dog. She scrubbed it and scoured it and shined it so that it always looked like a brand new car. “Hey, look out!” cried Mollie, for Betty, not noticing her and being a little worried about the sound of the engine, had backed the small car down the drive and almost into Mollie’s big one. “What kind of driving do you call that? Do you want to buy me a new mudguard?” “Oh, pardon me,” said Betty, laughing back at her. “You were so small and insignificant, I came near not seeing you.” “Well, you would have _felt_ me in another minute,” grumbled Mollie, as she shut off the engine and got out of the car. “What’s the idea of your little peanut, anyway? Thought you were going to ride in a regular car.” “That’s why I chose mine,” Betty laughed back impishly, still intent on the sound of the engine. It was part of their fun to be always throwing insults at each other’s car but the thrusts were invariably good-natured.