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The next instant the distracted eloper was on his feet demanding a special engine. "I've got to have it!" he shouted. Windomshire's wits returned. Why not have a special too? It was the only way. "You can order one for me, too," he exclaimed. "At once. It's imperative."
"Hang it all, man, don't blow your horn like that!" roared Windomshire at last, harassed and full of dread. Joe, in his abstraction, was sounding his siren in a most insulting manner. At last Windomshire's wheels struck a surface that seemed hard and resisting. He gave a shout of joy. "Here we are! It's macadam!" "Cobberly Road," cried Joe. "Back off to the right and let me run in ahead.
No such profitable harvest had ever been reaped by the farmer. Dauntless and Anne ate off of a sewing-table in the corner. Mrs. Van Truder deliberately refused to hear Mr. Windomshire's timorous suggestion that they "make room" for them at the select table. Silent anathemas accompanied every mouthful of food that went down the despot's throat, but she did not know it.
The painters left them there this morning. Look out for paint, dear. Don't make a noise not a sound. Mr. Windomshire's room is just over the porte cochere. For Heaven's sake, don't arouse him." "Drop your bag down first, dear, here! I'll catch it." "I've got to put some things in it first. It isn't quite ready," she gasped, darting away from the window. "'T was ever thus," he muttered in despair.
"How annoying!" Dauntless had just said to Anne, in a fit of disgust: "Windomshire's got a lot of nerve. That was my engine, you know. I hired it." Windomshire went on to say, careful that Joe was quite out of hearing: "Mr. Dauntless was quite annoying. He got into my engine without an invitation, and I'm hanged if he'd take a hint, even after I hired a stoker to throw a spadeful of coal over him.
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