knew where I had met them before--at Kitty Van Tassel's coming out
party, and I distinctly recalled having spilled some punch on the
prettier one's white satin slipper.

"We get out here," I said, hoarsely, choking with rage.

"But!" exclaimed the old lady, "it's the loneliest part of the road."

"However that may be," I replied with fine firmness, "I must
nevertheless alight here. I have a great many things to do before I
return to camp and lonely roads are well suited to my purposes. My
homicidal leanings are completely over-powering me."

"Watch him closely," said the old lady to my companion, as the car
came to a stop.

"He will have to," I replied grimly, as I prepared to alight.

"Perhaps Mr. Oswald will mix us a cocktail some day," said one of the
sisters, leaning over the side of the car. "I have heard that he
supported many bars at one time, but I never knew he really owned
one."

"What," I heard the old lady exclaiming as the car pulled away, "he
really isn't a bartender at all--well, fancy that!"

There were a couple of pairs of rather dusty liberty blues in camp
that night.