If it's all the same to you, I
think p'r'aps I'd better be hopping--you know--"
"Oh, don't you worry about Young Har; 'e won't bother us to-night; 'e's
off Long Island way to try his newest 'igh-power racing car--'e's
driving in the Vanderbilt Cup Race next month. To-night 'e expects to do
eighty miles or so, and 'opes to sleep at one of 'is clubs. I say 'e
'opes an' expects so to do!"
"Yes," nodded Mr. Stevens, "certainly, but what do you mean?"
"Sir," sighed Mr. Brimberly, "if you'd been forced by stern dooty to sit
be'ind Young Har in a fast automobile as I 'ave, you'd know what I mean.
Reckless? Speed? Well, there!" and Mr. Brimberly lifted hands and eyes
and shook his head until his whiskers vibrated with horror.
"Then you're pretty sure," said Mr. Stevens, settling luxurious boots
upon a cushioned chair, "you're pretty sure he won't come bobbing up
when least expected?"
"Pretty sure!" nodded Mr. Brimberly. "You see, this nooest car is the
very latest thing in racing cars--cost a fortune, consequently it's
bound to break down--these here expensive cars always do, believe me!"
"Why, then," said Mr.
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