native wit on his native heath! Reuben--pardon me, your name is Reuben,
isn't it?--now that you've had your little joke, would you condescend to
tell us the road which we should take to reach Bayport in the shortest
time? Would you oblige us to that extent?"

The young lady smiled at this. "Victor," she said, "how idiotic you
are!"

I agreed with her. Idiot was one of the terms, the mildest, which I
should have applied to that young man. I wanted very much to remove him
from that car by what Lute would call the scruff of the neck. But most
of all, just then, I wanted to be alone, to see the last of the auto and
its occupants.

"First turn to the right, second to the left," I said, sullenly.

"Thank you, Reuben," vouchsafed the young man. "Here's hoping that your
vegetables are fresher than your jokes. Go ahead, Oscar."

The chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car buzzed up the road,
turning the corner at full speed. There was a loose board projecting
from the bridge just under my feet. As a member--though an inactive
one--of the Village Improvement Society I should have trodden it back
into place. I didn't; I kicked it into the brook.

Then I walked on. But the remainder of my march was a silent one,
without music. I did not whistle.