Away they went at a rapid speed, which Patty thought must be beyond the allowed limit, but Roger assured her to the contrary.
For many miles their course lay along a fine road which followed the shore of the Sound. This delighted Patty, as she was still able to gaze out over the blue water, and at the same time enjoy the wonderful motion of the car.
But soon their course changed and they turned inland, on the road to Hartford. Patty was surprised at Roger’s knowledge of the way, but the young man was well provided with road maps and guidebooks, of which he had made careful study.
“How beautifully the car goes,” said Patty. “It doesn’t make the least fuss, even on the upgrades.”
“You must learn the vocabulary, Patty,” said Roger. “When a machine goes smoothly as The Fact is doing now, the proper expression is that it runs sweetly.”
“Sweetly!” exclaimed Patty. “How silly. It sounds like a gushing girl.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Roger, serenely. “If you go on motor trips, you must learn to talk motor-jargon.”
“All right,” said Patty, “I’m willing to learn, and I do think the way this car goes it is just too sweet for anything!”
They all laughed at this, but their gaiety was short-lived, for just then there was a peculiar crunching sound that seemed to mean disaster, judging from the expressions of dismay on the faces of the Farrington family.
“What is it?” asked Patty, forgetting that she had been told never to ask questions on such occasions.
“Patty,” said Roger, making a comical face at her, “my countenance now presents an expression typical of disgust, irritation, and impatience. I now wave my right hand thus, which is a Delsarte gesture expressing exasperation with a trace of anger. I next give voice to my sentiments, merely to remark in my usual calm and disinterested way, that a belt has broken and the mending thereof will consume a portion of time, the length of which may be estimated only after it has elapsed.”
Patty laughed heartily at this harangue, but gathered from Roger’s nonsense the interesting fact that an accident had occurred, and that a delay was inevitable. Nobody seemed especially surprised. Indeed, they took it quite as a matter of course, and Mrs. Farrington opened a new magazine which she had brought with her, and calmly settled herself to read.
But Elise said, “Well, I’m already starving with hunger, and I think we may as well open that kit of provisions, and have our picnic right here, while Roger is mending the belt.”
“Elise,” said her father jestingly, “you sometimes show signs of almost human intelligence! Your plan is a positive inspiration, for I confess that I myself feel the gnawings of hunger. Let us eat the hard-boiled eggs and ham sandwiches that we have with us, and then if we like, we can stop at Hartford this afternoon for a more satisfying lunch, as I begin to think we will not reach Pine Branches until sometime later than their usual dinner hour.”
They all agreed to this plan, and Roger, with his peculiar sensitiveness toward being discovered with his car at a disadvantage, said seriously: “I see a racing machine coming, and when it passes us I hope you people will act as if we had stopped here only to lunch, and not because this ridiculous belt chose to break itself just now.”
This trait of Roger’s amused Patty very much, but she was quite ready to humour her friend, and agreed to do her part.
She looked where Roger had indicated, and though she could see what looked like a black speck on a distant road, she wondered how Roger could know it was a racing machine that was approaching. However, she realised that there were many details of motoring of which she had as yet no idea, and she turned her attention to helping the others spread out the luncheon. The beautifully furnished basket was a delight to Patty. She was amazed to see how cleverly a large amount of paraphernalia could be stowed in a small amount of space. The kit was arranged for six persons, and contained half-dozens of knives, forks, spoons, and even egg-spoons; also plates, cups, napkins, and everything with which to serve a comfortable meal. There were sandwich-boxes, salad-boxes, butter-jars, tea and coffee cans, salt, pepper, and all necessary condiments. Then there was the alcohol stove, with its water-kettle and chafing dish. At the sight of all these things, which seemed to come out of the kit as out of a magician’s hat, Patty’s eyes danced.
“Let me cook,” she begged, and Mrs. Farrington and Elise were only too glad to be relieved of this duty.
There wasn’t much cooking to do, as sandwiches, cold meats, salad, and sweets were lavishly provided, but Patty made tea, and then boiled a few eggs just for the fun of doing it.
Preparations for the picnic were scarcely under way when the racing-car that Roger had seen in the distance came near them. There was a whirring sound as it approached, and Patty glanced up from her alcohol stove to see that it was occupied by only one man. He was slowing speed, and evidently intended to stop. Long before he had reached them, Roger had hidden his tools, and though his work on the broken belt was not completed, he busied himself with the luncheon preparations, as if that was his sole thought.
The racing-car stopped and the man who was driving it got out.
At sight of him Patty with difficulty restrained her laughter, for though their own garb was queer, it was rational compared to the appearance of this newcomer.
A racing suit is, with perhaps the exception of a diver’s costume, the most absurd-looking dress a man can get into. The stranger’s suit was of black rubber, tightly strapped at the wrists and ankles, but it was his head-gear which gave the man his weird and uncanny effect. It was a combination of mask, goggles, hood, earflaps, and neckshield which was so arranged with hinges that the noseguard and mouthpiece worked independently of each other.
At any rate, it seemed to Patty the funniest show she had ever seen, and she couldn’t help laughing. The man didn’t seem to mind, however, and after he had bowed silently for a moment or two with great enjoyment of their mystification, he pulled off his astonishing head-gear and disclosed his features.
“Dick Phelps!” exclaimed Mr. Farrington, “why, how are you, old man? I’m right down glad to see you!”
Mr. Phelps was a friend of the Farrington family, and quite naturally they invited him to lunch with them.
“Indeed I will,” said the visitor, “for I started at daybreak, and I’ve had nothing to eat since. I can’t tarry long though, as I must make New York City to-night.”
Mr. Phelps was a good-looking young man of about thirty years, and so pleased was he with Patty’s efforts in the cooking line, that he ate all the eggs she had boiled, and drank nearly all the tea, besides making serious inroads on the viands they had brought with them.
“It doesn’t matter if I do eat up all your food,” said the young man, pleasantly, “for you can stop anywhere and get more, but I mustn’t stop again until I reach the city, and I probably won’t have a chance to eat then, as I must push on to Long Island.”
The Farringtons were quite willing to refresh the stranger within their gates, and they all enjoyed the merry little picnic.
“Where are you bound?” asked Mr. Phelps as he prepared to continue his way.
“To Pine Branches first,” said Mrs. Farrington, “the country house of a friend. It’s near Springfield, and from there we shall make short trips, and later on, continue our way in some other direction,—which way we haven’t yet decided.”
“Good enough,” said Mr. Phelps, “then I’ll probably see you again. I am often a guest at Pine Branches myself, and shall hope to run across you.”
As every motorist is necessarily interested in his friend’s car, Mr. Phelps naturally turned to inspect the Farrington machine before getting into his own.
And so, to Roger’s chagrin, he was obliged to admit that he was even then under the necessity of mending