Dorothy's Triumph

“Well, come on, now, and I’ll take you and Ephy for a spin, and, incidentally, I’ll teach you both how to run the car.”

Jim crawled into the front seat, Ephraim occupying the big five-passenger compartment in the rear. Gerald, after “cranking up,” took his seat behind the steering wheel.

“All ready, Ephy?”

“Yas’r – yas’r.”

“Then we’re off.”

The big Ajax started without a jar and moved almost noiselessly off down the road. The engine ran so smoothly that it was hard to imagine anything but an electric motor was driving the machine.

Gerald knew Baltimore and its environs by heart. He did not enter the city immediately, however, but kept to the fine country roads which lay just outside. When a level stretch was reached once, he put her on the high speed, and Jim and Ephraim traveled for a few moments at a pace neither had ever experienced before – even on a railroad train.

Finally, slowing down, Gerald said:

“Now I’ll change places with you, Jim, and you shall run the car.”

The change was quickly effected, Jim being eager to feel the big steering wheel in his grasp, his feet on the pedals in front, with the single thought in his mind that the Ajax was run and controlled by his hand alone.

Gerald explained the points of starting, showing him the three speeds forward and the reverse; how to regulate his spark so as to keep the motor from knocking, especially on heavy grades; then how to advance the spark where the pull was slight, so as to make the motor work cooler and to use less gasoline.

Jim admired Gerald’s thorough knowledge of the car. It showed a side to the boy’s nature that Jim had not suspected – in fact, the Gerald Blank who owned this auto was hardly the same boy who had caused so much dissension on the houseboat the summer before.

“When you think you’ve had enough, we’ll let Ephy try it,” said Gerald.

“I’d never get enough,” smiled Jim. “So better let Ephy get a-hold right here and now.”

He good-naturedly resigned his post, and Ephraim soon found himself sitting in the chauffeur’s seat, the big steering wheel almost touching his breast, his feet on the pedals. Then Gerald instructed him as he had Jim. When he told the old negro to press slowly on one of the pedals to make the machine slow down, Ephraim misunderstood his orders and pressed the wrong one, with the result that the speed remained undiminished, while the exhaust set up such a beating that Ephy turned a shade whiter.

The joke was on him. No harm was done, and soon, when Gerald and Jim were through laughing at him, he began to show considerable agility in the handling of the car.

“I’ll give you both another lesson to-morrow,” said Gerald, as, some seven miles out of the city, he took charge of the big machine and turned for the run back to Baltimore.

Soon the engines began to sing as the car gathered headway. The road was clear ahead, hence Gerald felt no qualms about “speeding her up.” He kept a close watch, however, for lanes and crossroads, twice slowing down for railway crossings, only to resume his former pace when on the other side. Trees and houses flashed past in hopeless confusion. A cloud of dust arose behind them, and mingled with the gaseous smoke that came from the rear of the machine.

Through the city they went, now at a much lessened pace – in fact, at only eight miles an hour, which was the speed limit in the city – finally turning out along the shores of the Chesapeake toward old Bellvieu.

Dorothy and Aunt Betty were sitting on the gallery when they drew up, and waved their hands at Gerald as he let Jim and Ephraim out and turned his machine toward home.

“You are both chauffeurs now, I suppose?” queried Aunt Betty, as the pair came up the walk toward the house.

“Ephraim is, at least,” laughed Jim.

“Yas’r, yas’r; I suah is,” said Ephraim with a deep chuckle. “Dis yere joy ridin’ business am gittin’ intuh mah blood. Nebber ain’t gone so fast in mah whole life as w’en Mistah Gerald done let dat blame contraption out. Lordy, but we jes’ flew!”

“Where did Jim come in?” Dorothy wanted to know.

“Oh, Mistah Gerald teached him how tuh run de machine, en den he teached me. I tell yo’ w’at, Miss Betty, I’s gwine tuh be yo’ shofer all right, en I’s gwine tuh be a mighty good one, too.”

“He can hardly wait for Gerald to come back to-morrow,” said Jim.

“Then Gerald is coming back, is he?” asked Dorothy.

“Yes; we can’t learn to run his car in one lesson, you know. I reckon I haven’t much call to talk about Ephy’s enthusiasm, for the fever’s in my blood, too.”

“That’s what they call ‘automobilitis,’” said Aunt Betty.

“Well, whatever hit am, I’s got it,” said Ephraim, with a grave shake of his head. Then he emitted another chuckle and walked away.

The next few days passed quickly.

Gerald came each afternoon, as he had promised, and before the long-looked-for day arrived, both Jim and Ephraim were nearly as proficient in the use of the car as he.

On Tuesday afternoon Molly Breckenridge arrived, as she had promised in her letter, Dorothy, Jim and Metty meeting the train with the barouche.

To describe the meeting between the girls would be impossible. A bystander, observing the hugs and kisses they bestowed upon each other, might well have wondered who they were, to be so lavish with their affection.

“You dear, good girl!” Dorothy kept saying, over and over, each word accented by another kiss.

Molly surprised Jim by kissing him rapturously on the cheek, an act the boy did not like, but which he took with the good nature he knew would be expected of him.

Later, in confidence, he confessed his displeasure to Gerald, which caused that young man to go off into a fit of merriment.

“You’re a funny fellow, Jim,” he said, finally, when he had induced a sober expression to remain on his face. “Most fellows would go several miles out of their way to get a kiss from Molly Breckenridge. But you, with kisses thrust upon you, are angry. Well, that may be all right, but I don’t understand it – hanged if I do!”

But Jim vouchsafed no further comment. He only smiled and shook his head.

CHAPTER V

THE CAMP IN THE MOUNTAINS

Old Bellvieu was early astir on Wednesday morning, the time set for the departure. At four o’clock, when the darkness without was still intense, Ephraim, who had been awakened by an alarm clock, went from door to door of the big mansion, arousing the inmates.

The provisions and cooking utensils had been packed in baskets and were setting in the front hall, ready to be carried to the automobile when Gerald and Aurora should arrive. There was also a hamper containing extra clothes for Aunt Betty, Dorothy and Molly.

It was two sleepy-eyed girls who came slowly down the back stairway to eat hominy, biscuits and coffee, prepared by Chloe and Dinah in the big kitchen – sleepy-eyed, because the chums had lain awake more than half the night talking over old times. Molly’s trip to California had been told of to the most minute detail, and at the end of the discourse Dorothy had started on her adventures at Oak Knowe. Then to sleep at half past one, to rise at four!

It was no wonder Dorothy said, as they entered the kitchen:

“I feel like the last rose of summer. The next time you keep me awake till nearly morning, Molly Breckenridge, I’m going to be revenged.”

“The same to you, Dorothy Calvert,” was Molly’s retort. “You seem to have no regard for my condition after my long journey here. I needed rest, but you kept me awake all night with your constant chatter, telling me things that did not interest me.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did!”

And so forth and so on. Then, when Chloe, Dinah and Metty, were staring open-mouthed, impressed with the fact that the young ladies had apparently descended in a very bad humor, both girls laughed, threw their arms about each other’s neck, and concluded their performance with a resounding kiss.