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Updated: June 24, 2025
It was late in May that Jimmy Hancock wrote a note to the girl with whom he had ridden horseback in the Valley of Virginia. "I've just had a stroke of luck," he said, "in meeting our old friend Stuart Farquaharson, who is touring the world, crowned gorgeously with bays of literary fame. I ran into him yesterday in Yokohama and from him learned for the first time of your marriage.
"Oh, do be quiet!" scolded Bobby Littell "Tommy, you've got us in a peck of trouble she's one of the teachers!" "How do you know?" demanded Tommy. "Who told you?" "Well, if you'd keep still a minute, you'd hear," said the exasperated Bobby. Sure enough, a pleasant, fresh-faced woman, hardly more than a girl, was escorting the gray-haired woman to a waiting touring car.
"You have us," Tom continued, "but you haven't our signatures to the report on your mine. That is going to be more difficult." "Time heals all breaches between gentlemen who should be friends," declared Don Luis, quite graciously. After that it was a silent party that rode in the touring car.
It was a warm beautiful morning the last week in March when he alighted on the platform of the little railroad station on the estate, and took his seat beside Nan in her big touring car. The fruit trees were in full bloom, and their perfume filled the air. The hum of bees and the song of birds he had known in his boyhood thrilled his heart.
With which Cigarette, leaning down from her casement, whose sill was about a foot above his head, tendered her peace-offering in a bottle; three of which, packed in her knapsack, she had carried off from the luncheon-table of a Russian Prince who was touring through Algiers, and who had half lost his Grand Ducal head after the bewitching, dauntless, capricious, unattachable, unpurchasable, and coquettish little fire-eater of the Spahis, who treated him with infinitely more insolence and indifference than she would show to some battered old veteran, or some worn-out old dog, who had passed through the great Kabaila raids and battles.
Since Amy's marriage five years ago, Ethel had only seen her twice once when Amy had come home, appearing resplendent with Joe her husband in a large new touring car, and had sent a wave of excitement through the quiet little town; and again when she had asked Ethel to visit her for a week in New York. That had been a glamourous week, but it had not been repeated.
Be that as it may, the hap that put Medenham in control of his Mercury unquestionably led to the next turn in events. A man driving a high-powered car watches the incidents of the road more closely than the same individual lounging at ease in the back seat. Hence, his lordship's attention was caught instantly by a touring car drawn up close to the curb in Down Street.
In the coolness of the late evening, in the court of the caravanserai, her brother and his friends lounged with her and the two ladies of their touring and sketching party, while they drank their sherbet, and talked of the Gerome colors of the place, and watched the flame of the afterglow burn out, and threw millet to the doves and pigeons straying at their feet.
Gray cars are common enough in London, but they are usually of the touring class. Not often does one see a gray-painted landaulet; hence, the odd though hardly remarkable fact occurred to Theydon that a precisely similar gray automobile had occupied the center of the station yard at Waterloo when he took a taxi from the rank. Admittedly he was in a nervous and excited state.
At the same time Ingigerd's cockatoo was squawking in Arthur Stoss's voice and continually asseverating: "I am already a man of absolutely independent fortune. I am touring simply to bring my fortune up to a certain amount." Under the impression that he was recalling these things to his memory, Frederick was really dreaming again.
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