"I--am going to do it!" announces Marjorie.

"Mule!" hisses Dudley.

And that's the status quo between these two models when we starts for
the car. Marjorie makes a quick break and plants herself in front by
the chauffeur, leavin' Brother to climb inside with me and the bundles.
He grits his teeth and murmurs a few remarks under his breath.

"Some pep to that sister of yours, eh?" says I.

"She's an obstinate little fool!" says Dudley. "Look at that, now! I
knew she would!"

Yep, she had. We're no sooner under way than the obligin' Henry slides
out of his seat and lets Miss Marjorie slip in behind the wheel. She
can drive a car all right too. You ought to see her throw in the high
and go beatin' it down the avenue, takin' signals from the traffic cops
at crossing, skinnin' around motor busses, and crowdin' out a fresh
taxi driver that tried to hog a corner on her. Nothin' timid or
amateurish either about the way she handled that ten-thousand-dollar
gas wagon of Old Hickory's. Where I'd be jammin' on both brakes and
callin' for help, she just breezes along like she had the street all to
herself.

Meantime Brother is sittin' with both feet braced and one hand on the
door, now and then sighin' relieved as we scrape through a tight place.
But we'd been down quite a ways and was part way back, headed for
Riverside Drive, and was rollin' along merry too, when all of a sudden