"I was sorry for _him_," said Angela. "But I'm not now. He's a cheat. He
pretends I've engaged the car for a fortnight."

"I guess he won't go on along that line now he's seen who I am," remarked
Nick, "because if he does, I'll make his Model an orphan. He remembers me
from last winter. I'll deal with him for you, if you please."

Angela laughed again. "Thank you! He doesn't seem likely to go on very
soon, along any line, does he?"

"Shouldn't wonder if that car's ball-bearings ain't broken," said the
sharp-nosed chauffeur. "That's a real favourite accident of Sealman's.
We've got to know it by heart in Los Angeles. It generally happens with
him--across a trolley track. Takes all day to dismount and fix up again."

"We can't go away and leave him to his fate," said Angela. "After all,
he's human."

Nick could have shouted "Hurrah!" That "we" of hers told him that he had
won.

"Shall we tow him to the next town?" he asked, keeping triumph out of his
tone. "We'll land him in a garage. And then--if instead of his car you'll
take mine to Riverside, why, I'll be mighty honoured."

"You expected me to come to grief!" she said.

"Well, I knew that Model."