movement was not lost on Dorian, but he lingered only for a moment.

"Goodnight, Carlia; remember, some Saturday."

"I'll not forget. Goodnight" she looked furtively up and down the road,
then sped back into the house.

Dorian walked on in the darkening evening. A block or so down the road
he came on to an automobile. No one in Greenstreet owned one of
these machines as yet, and there were but few in the city. As Dorian
approached, he saw a young man working with the machinery under the
lifted hood.

"Hello," greeted Dorian, "what's the trouble?"

"Damned if I know. Been stalled here for an hour." The speaker
straightened from his work. His hands were grimy, and the sweat was
running down his red and angry face. He held tightly the stump of a
cigarette between his lips.

"I'm sorry I can't help you," said Dorian, "but I don't know the first
thing about an automobile."

"Well, I thought I knew a lot, but this gets me." He swore again, as if
to impress Dorian with the true condition of his feelings. Then he
went at the machinery again with pliers and wrenches, after which he
vigorously turned the crank. The engine started with a wheeze and then a
roar. The driver leaped into the car and brought the racing engine to a
smoother running. "The cursed thing" he remarked, "why couldn't it have
done that an hour ago. O, say, excuse me, have you just been at the