"I must have a shuvver to overhaul the machine, until I've been put wise," he said, when, after some discussion, he had agreed to buy the yellow car if it were satisfactory. "But I want to learn to drive right away. I'd sure be on pins and needles, sittin' like a duke, in behind, with somebody else at the helm. How long will it take me? I'm pretty quick at pickin' up new things." "Can you drive a horse?" the man inquired. Nick laughed. "I can worry along some." Few men in California knew more about horses than he. "Well, then, you'll get the trick of steering sooner. Six or seven lessons might do you." "Lessons of an hour or two?" "Well, yes. That's about it." "Suppose I pay extra, and practise extra? If I keep at it all day and every day, will I be warranted safe and kind after, say, four lessons? I can have several men to teach me maybe, if I tire one out." "But you're only one man. Keeping at it like that you'd feel a strain." "No, I wouldn't," said Nick. "I'd have a doze or two and a sandwich or two in between spins. No harder work than a round-up." "All right, then. In four days like that you'll be a dandy driver, I promise you, Mr. Hilliard," said the man of the garage. "Fit to drive--ladies?" "Fit to drive a queen." "That's what I want to do," mumbled Nick under his breath. X WHEN ANGELA WENT SIGHTSEEING The next five days Angela spent in seeing the country her father had helped to create, and in breaking down in the blue motor-car at brief and inconvenient intervals. At first they were unexpected intervals; but soon they were taken for granted; for the more she knew of Mr. Sealman's invention the less was Angela surprised at anything it chose to do. The Model was a model of all the vices. It smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, and developed, one after another or all together, every malady to which motor-metal is heir. The stages of the way, even to the Mission of San Gabriel, in its sleepy old Mexican village on the fringe of Los Angeles, were punctuated with disasters. A burst tire was a comma; carburetor trouble a colon; nervous prostration of the sparking-plug a period. But Mr. Sealman never lost confidence. He explained everything, justified himself and the car; told anecdotes of his courage, and let fall pathetic words concerning an invalid mother dependent on him and his success. "I'm a pioneer, I tell you," he said. "You and I are making history this minute."