reluctantly. Burns made no comment, but applied himself to
his task - not only then, but also for every minute of the
seventy-five miles to their destination.

"He might as well be a hired chauffeur," complained Miss
Hempstead when, during a stop of ten minutes on account of a
switching freight train, she had leaned forward and attempted
in vain to carry on a conversation with Burns. "That
abstracted mood of his - is there any breaking into it?"

"Fall out and break your collar-bone. He'll be all
attention," advised Chester.

"Thank you. I'm almost tempted to. Why don't you drive
awhile, Mr. Macauley, and give him a rest?"

"And let him sit here in the middle with you? He couldn't be
pried loose from that wheel now. Besides, I haven't driven
this car yet, and she's too different in her steering from my
old one. I shouldn't like to try with this crowd behind me."

They reached the distant city; drew up at the steps of the
most attractive hotel; went in to lunch. That is to say, all
did this except R. P. Burns. He remained in the garage in the
rear where he had taken the car, busying himself with some
details of mechanism whose working did not quite suit him. In
spite of summons and appeals he continued to work until the
rest had finished; then he bolted in to wash off dust and
engine grease, ate his lunch in ten minutes - Macauley sitting
by and expostulating - and bolted out again.