was smacking gloved hands together and cursing the lumps of a
jail-bird-built road and the guilty negligence of a garage-man who had
forgotten to put a lift-jack back into the kit. Two women stood beside
the car and looked upon the young man's helplessness.

"Enter tortoise, second scene of the ancient drama, 'The Tortoise and
the Hare,'" Walter Farr informed himself.

His amused brown eyes noted the young man was obviously flabby.

"Here, you! Help me prop up this axle," commanded the charioteer.

"You do not need help," suggested Farr. "You need somebody who can do
the whole job."

The glance he gave the young man, up and down, conveyed his full
meaning.

"Well, I must say that's saucy talk from a hobo," declared one of the
women.

"Mother!" warned the third member of the party.

Farr turned his cynical gaze from the older woman to the younger--from
the bleached hair and rouged lips to a fresh, pure, and vivid
loveliness. He saw her profile once more.

"No one has remembered to say 'please' yet," the girl informed him,
meeting his gaze. "I say it, sir!"