"You're going to play some golf this afternoon, David," he said
firmly. "Mike had me out this morning to look at your buggy springs."

David chuckled. He still stuck to his old horse, and to the ancient
vehicle which had been the signal of distress before so many doors
for forty years. "I can trust old Nettie," he would say. "She
doesn't freeze her radiator on cold nights, she doesn't skid, and
if I drop asleep she'll take me home and into my own barn, which is
more than any automobile would do."

"I'm going to sleep," he said comfortably. "Get Wallie Sayre--I
see he's back from some place again--or ask a nice girl. Ask
Elizabeth Wheeler. I don't think Lucy here expects to be the only
woman in your life."

Dick stared into the windshield.

"I've been wondering about that, David," he said, "just how much
right--"

"Balderdash!" David snorted. "Don't get any fool notion in your
head."

Followed a short silence with Dick driving automatically and
thinking. Finally he drew a long breath.

"All right," he said, "how about that golf--you need exercise.
You're putting on weight, and you know it. And you smoke too much.
It's either less tobacco or more walking, and you ought to know it."