“No, I’m not. You see Daddy sent some one after it”
“Well, it makes me an auto thief,” he exclaimed, involuntarily. “That’s what it does.”
“You talk as though it’s my fault,” said Betty. “Wait, I’ll be right on over. I’m curious to see it. I’ll bet it’s something handed down from the Spanish War.”
“It’s a peach.” he objected, but she had hung up.
Coming out of the drugstore, he found a number of his acquaintances gathered about the sleek little model. They regarded him with open admiration.
“Who handed you this. Jerry? Did you win it in the lottery? How about a little ride, Jerry? It’s good for the nerves.”
He scowled at them unfavorably. “How would you like to go chase yourselves?” he suggested, uncharitably.
“Just a pal,” they remarked. And one of them added, “I bet he stole it.”
Jerry winced. “You always have to be the ray of sunshine around this outfit, don’t you?” he growled. “Some day somebody’s going to change the color of your eyes for you.”
All at once he saw Betty coming. As she crossed the street to where they were gathered, he raised his hat and his companions, melting tactfully into the background, did likewise, with a sketchiness that was quite superficial.
“So this is it,” she said, laying her hand on the back fender. “How’d it get so spick and span?”
“I’ve been dusting it off with my silk handkerchief all morning,” he confessed. “We all chipped in and fed it gas.”
“Wonder who mislaid it?” she observed.
He twisted his cap around in his hands like a corkscrew. That was his way of registering uneasiness. “Honest, I thought it was yours,” he said, anxiously. “I wish I could figure out what to do about it. It’s stolen property as long as I keep it standing here.”
“Then why keep it standing?” she suggested. “Let’s get in and see how it works.”
What a chance to show off in front of the rest of these drugstore cowboys! It was too good an opportunity to miss. Girls like Betty Reeves didn’t often invite themselves for rides in his company.
“Bet your life!” he said with a good deal of enthusiasm. Proud as a peacock doesn’t begin to describe his feelings as he drove down the main thoroughfare with her beside him. A number of people recognized Betty and paused to stare after her. Two friends of hers, in particular, who were coming out of a millinery shop, watched her go by.
“Well, if that isn’t Betty sitting there in broad daylight with that fellow that hangs around the corner drugstore! He tips his hat to me, but I don’t encourage him in the least.”
“Well, I should hope you wouldn’t,” said the other girl. “Betty must be out of her mind.”
And they went up the street to spread the glad tidings.
Jerry heaved a sigh of relief as he left the residential section behind him. Out here there was less chance of any one spotting the car. About three miles out Betty became aware of a black speck in the mirror. She pulled him by the arm.
“Is that a cop back there? Better give it the juice; I think he’s after us. Give me the wheel. Let me show you how to treat this car.”
She had taken it out of his hands before he realized it, and he felt the car lurch forward under them and eat up the road. The telegraph poles flickered by like the shutter of a camera now. Betty was standing up, driving on both feet like a Roman charioteer. “Move over and let me sit down,” she commanded, tersely, “before I fall out.” They shifted places. It was his turn to watch the mirror now. The demon on the motor-cycle was growing smaller and smaller with every mile.
“Still there?” Betty would ask from time to time.
“Clear out of sight,” he announced at last.
They both relaxed like little rag dolls, all the tension going out of their limbs.
“How was that for a close shave?” she said. “Let’s turn down here and see if we can’t fool him.”
They jounced off the smooth hardness of the road into a narrow lane that rapidly lost itself in and out of some trees and followed this until they were safely hidden. She shut down the motor and they jumped out, breathless with excitement.
“Break off some branches,” Betty directed, “and cover the tonneau so no color shows through to catch his eye. Quick! I’m going back to get rid of the tire tracks.”
“I’ll say you have a head on your shoulders,” he commented admiringly. He buried the car under a pile of greenery; she meanwhile smoothing out the dust ruts as well as she could with the sole of her shoe.
“Come on, get back in and we’ll pray for luck.” They crawled under the leafy covering and crouched waiting, their eyes fastened expectantly in the white ribbon of road that they could make out through chinks in the branches. A faint humming drew near.
“He’s coming,” murmured Betty. “Don’t breathe.”
His fingers closed over her icy hand.
The hum increased to a roar. It reached a climax and the motor-cycle climbed past them like a black bullet.
Belly stood up.
“Better stick close,” he cautioned. “He may come back.”
“He’s probably at Atlantic City by cow,” she laughed.
“What’ll I do about the car?” he ventured at last. “It isn’t mine, and I can’t keep it here in town; they’ll catch on to me.”
“Yes,” she said, “I know some people who would recognize it the minute they saw it.”
“No one wants to give me a job. They think I’m just a drugstore Johnny. I’ll never amount to anything if I stay here,” he mourned. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York, where nobody knows each other. I’d show them that I’m good for then.”
She sat there watching him with an old look on her face, a look that was almost motherly. She hadn’t known she could feel that way about any one.
“Well, why don’t you?” she said suddenly. “A chance like this may never come your way again. Drop me off at the nearest station and I’ll go back by him. Then you make a break for New York or Chi or any place you want to do.”
“But I hate to think of running off with any one’s car like this. You wouldn’t he if it was your car,” he added.
“Wouldn’t I?” She laughed under her breath as she said it, wondering what he’d think if he knew the truth.
Half an hour later Betty stepped out of the roadster at a little wayside railroad station. The white turnstile that marked the railroad crossing was slowly being bowered and the train was whistling in the distance.
“Cood-bye.” She paused gracefully with one foot on the running-board and turned to him.
“I... I almost hate to see you go,” he shuttered, with a ghost of a laugh to cover his embarrassment.
“So much has happened,” she admitted, looking down at her shoes, “that it seems as though I’ve known you a long time.”
“Can’t you feel little sympathies tying us to each other already?” He patted the car’s glossy side. “Don’t you suppose I know that this is yours?” he told her.
“Don’t argue,” she said. “Here comes the train. Just bring it with you when you come back. Good-bye.”
He caught her by the wrist. “At seven o’clock a year from today — watch for me. I’ll be back.”
Their lips touched bashfully.
He let go of her hand. She flew across the narrow platform and he saw the cars whisk her away, out of his life, forever, it seemed.
On the train Betty sank back in her seat with a little sigh. There were three hundred and sixty-five days in a year. But he wouldn’t be back. She had always maintained that boys broke their promises as a matter of course.
“Great news, Betty!” her father sang out to her at dinner that evening. “I think we may have your car back for you inside of a day or two. It got away from a motor-cycle officer by the skin of its teeth this morning—”