There was a curious lift in Sard's head, in her eyes a flying look of adventure; her figure, light, alert, sat at the steering gear with a look of power and repose; her wistful profile had lines that were resolute and composed, as if waiting for some stuff of life on which to try their power; all about her in the windy press of their speed was the buoyant look of physical action, green trees, brown vital roads like veins full of the blood of Wanderlust and adventure; like them, the girl was ardent, fresh, a thing pure and intense as fire, yet sober and clean as water. In her belted coat and rough hat and the flying strands of hair, she drove in confident direction, over the damp woodland roads, over the swamps and bridges of the Morris turnpike, a very figure of Advance, so thought a man, who stood to let them pass, then let his arm fly up in hasty flourish. "Winged Victory!" he breathed. "Hello!" Watts' hand flew to his hat and he waved it; then as the girls, with friendly greeting, slowed down, he turned back to parley. "Hold up your hands," he ordered gruffly. "Give me your wristwatches; no quarter." It was all part of their feeling of quest and adventure, and they liked the tall lawyer for the little highway gesture as he stood there, his face lined with dust and sunburn, his costume showing rents and wrinkles of cross-country walking. The two wideawake faces smiled at him as he glanced tentatively at the gray-clad figure at the back of the car, but there was no introduction, though the lawyer paused for it. The man sitting there did not turn, but had a quiet position of relaxation. Sard reddened slightly. "We're off on a lark," they explained. "Have you seen Dunce and his gang? We hope we've stolen a march on them; we're further up the river, we think." "Going for some of those little pink pearls," explained Minga, "and we want to get ahead of 'em." Shipman's amused eyes ran over the outfit. The excited girls, the silent man with tea basket and the thermos bottles; he looked sympathetic. "Little pink pearls?" eyeing Minga teasingly, "are you going to pick them off the trees, or take them out of the turtles' mouths? How much food have you there, anything substantial?" "Loads," they assured him; "we're stocked up for the Bible multitude; we have loaves and fishes and everything." Still the older man hesitated. It was a little audacious, but he tried his luck at playing "young." "Take me with you?" glancing at the averted face of Colter and questioningly raising his eyebrows. The two girls accepted his self-invitation gaily. "Take you, won't we though? We need another man." Sard glanced back at the figure in the back. "This is Colter, whom we brought to help us with the boat and all that; he knows the Hackensack."