enveloped in a crimson cloak. He thrilled with exultation. What a
joke it was! He felt the carriage list as the women stepped in. The
door slammed to, and the rare good joke was on the way.

"Off with you!" cried the pompous footman, with an imperious wave of
the hand. "Number ninety-nine!"

"Ninety-nine! Ninety-nine!" bawled the carriage man.

Our jehu turned into the avenue, holding a tolerable rein. He clucked
and lightly touched the horses with the lash. _This_ was true
sport; _this_ was humor, genuine, initiative, unforced. He could
imagine the girls and their fright when he finally slowed down,
opened the door, and kissed them both. Wouldn't they let out a yell,
though? His plan was to drive furiously for half a dozen blocks,
zigzag from one side of the street to the other, taking the corners
sharply, and then make for Scott Circle.

Now, a lad of six can tell the difference between seventeen and
seventy-one. But this astonishing jehu of mine had been conspicuous
as the worst mathematician and the best soldier in his class at West
Point. No more did he remember that he was not in the wild West, and
that here in the East there were laws prohibiting reckless driving.

He drove decently enough till he struck Dupont Circle. From here he
turned into New Hampshire, thinking it to be Rhode Island. Mistake
number two. He had studied the city map, but he was conscious of not
knowing it as well as he should have known it; but, true to his
nature, he trusted to luck.