speed and shape, in the mad race for the Boston Post Road, and
the town of New Haven, swept up Fifth Avenue. Some rolled and
puffed like tugboats in a heavy seaway, others glided by
noiseless and proud as private yachts. But each flew the
colors of blue or crimson.

Winthrop's car, because her brother had gone to one college,
and he had played right end for the other, was draped
impartially. And so every other car mocked or cheered it, and
in one a bare-headed youth stood up, and shouted to his
fellows: "Look! there's Billy Winthrop! Three times three
for old Billy Winthrop!" And they lashed the air with flags,
and sent his name echoing over Central Park.

Winthrop grinned in embarrassment, and waved his hand. A
bicycle cop, and Fred, the chauffeur, were equally impressed.

"Was they the Harvoids, sir?" asked Fred.

"They was," said Winthrop.


Her brother Sam came down the steps carrying sweaters and
steamer-rugs. But he wore no holiday countenance.

"What do you think?" he demanded indignantly. "Ernest
Peabody's inside making trouble. His sister has a Pullman on
one of the special trains, and he wants Beatrice to go with
her."