“I’m glad to see you again, Miss Blank. You’ll find Dorothy waiting for you in the house.”

It was the following morning, and Jim had been roaming about the grounds when Aurora came in. At first he had seemed disinclined to be affable, for her actions on Dorothy’s houseboat had been anything but ladylike, until, like many another young girl, she had been taught a lesson; but he decided to be civil for the Calverts’ sake, at least.

“But I want to see you, Jim,” Aurora persisted. “You don’t mind my calling you ‘Jim,’ do you?”

“No.”

“And will you call me Aurora?”

“If you wish.”

“I do wish. We’re going on a long camping trip together, as I suppose you’ve heard.”

“Yes, and I want to thank you for the invitation.”

“You’ve decided to accept, of course?”

“Yes. At first I didn’t think I could; but Aunt Betty—Mrs. Calvert, that is—said if I didn’t I’d incur her everlasting displeasure, so I’ve arranged to go.”

“I’m delighted to hear it. We just can’t fail to have a good time.”

“I figure on its being a very pleasant trip, Miss Blank—er—I mean, Aurora.”

“You should see our new car, Jim. Papa presented it to Gerald and I, and it’s a beauty. Gerald’s coming over with it to-day to teach you and Ephraim how to run it. Then you can take turns playing chauffeur on our trip across country. I imagine if I were a boy that I should like nothing better.”

Jim’s face brightened as she was speaking.

“Thank you; I believe I will learn to run the machine if Gerald doesn’t care.”

“Care? He’d better not! The machine is a partnership affair, and I’ll let you run my half. But he won’t object, and what’s more, he’ll be only too glad to lend you the car occasionally to take Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy riding.”

“I’ll ask him when he comes over,” said the boy.

Electricity was Jim’s chief hobby, but anything of a mechanical nature appealed to him. While a gasoline car uses electricity only to explode its fuel, Jim was nevertheless deeply interested, particularly as he had never been able to look into the construction of an auto as thoroughly as he would have desired.

“When do we start?” he asked Aurora.

“The first of next week, if it’s all right with Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy.”

“Who dares talk of Dorothy when she is not present?” demanded that young lady, coming out on the gallery at this moment. “I believe this is a conspiracy.”

“Dorothy Calvert!”

“Aurora Blank!”

These sharp exclamations were followed by a joyous hug and a half dozen kisses, while Jim stood looking on in amusement.

“Say, don’t I get in that game?” he wanted to know.

“If you wish,” said Aurora, throwing him a coquettish glance.

“No indeed!” laughed Dorothy. “Gentlemen are entirely excluded.” She turned to her girl friend. “How well you are looking! And what a pretty dress!”

“Do you like it, Dorothy? Mamma had it made for me last week. At first it didn’t please me—the the front of the waist is so crazy with its pleats and frills.”

“Oh, that’s what I liked about it—what first caught my eye. It’s odd, but very, very pretty.”

“Excuse me!” murmured Jim. “The conversation grows uninteresting,” and turning his back, he walked off down the lawn. He cast a laughing glance over his shoulder an instant later, however, shaking his head as if to say, “Girls will be girls.”

“Come into the house, Aurora, and tell me about yourself. What has happened in old Baltimore since I’ve been gone? Really, Aunt Betty and I have been too busy arranging for my music lessons, and with various and sundry other things to have a good old-time chat.”

“Things have been rather dull here. Gerald and I went with papa and mamma to the theaters twice a week last winter, with an occasional matinÉe by ourselves, but aside from that, life has been very dull in Baltimore—that is, until the auto came a few weeks since. Now we take a ‘joy’ ride every afternoon, with an occasional evening thrown in for good measure.”

“I am anxious to see your car, Aurora.”

“And I am anxious to have you see it.”

“It must be a beauty.”

“Oh, it is.” Aurora leaned toward her friend. “Confidentially, Dorothy, it cost papa over four thousand dollars.”

“Just think of all that money to spend for pleasure!” cried Dorothy. “But then, it makes you happy, and I suppose that’s what money is for.”

“Did you ask your aunt about starting on our trip the first of the week?”

“Yes, and it’s all right. We’ll be ready. The only thing worrying me now is that I’m expecting to hear from one of my dearest girl chums, Molly Breckenridge—”

“Oh, and is she going with us?”

“Aunt Betty made me ask her. She said you wanted us to make up the party, and include Gerald and yourself.”

“That’s the very idea. It’s your trip, Dorothy, given in honor of your home-coming.”

“I’m sure that’s nice of you, Aurora. And now let’s discuss—”

“Pawdon me, Miss Dorot’y,” interrupted Ephraim, entering at this moment. “I—I—er—good mawnin’, Miss Aurory.”

“Good morning, Ephy,” Dorothy’s visitor responded. “Has anyone told you that you are to become a chauffeur?”

“W’at’s dat, Miss Aurory? A show fer? A show fer w’at?”

“A chauffeur, Ephy, is a man who drives an automobile.”

“One o’ dem fellers dat sets up in de front seat en turns de steerin’ apparatus?”

“Exactly. How would you like to do that?”

“I ain’t nebber monkeyed round dem gasoline contraptions none, but I reckon I’d like tuh do w’at yo’ say, Miss Aurory—yas’m; I jes’ reckon I would.”

“Well, Gerald is coming over some time to-day to show you and Jim a few things about the car. You will take turns playing chauffeur on our camping trip, and he wants to give you a lesson every day until we leave.”

“Dat suah suits me,” grinned the old negro.

“But what did you want, Ephy?” Dorothy asked, recalling him suddenly to his errand.

“Oh, Lordy, I done fergit w’at I come fo’. Lemme see—oh, yas’m, I got er lettah fo’ yo’. Jes’ lemme see where I put dat doggone—er—beggin’ yo’ pawdon, young ladies, I—Heah hit is!”

The letter, fished from one of Ephraim’s capacious pockets, was quickly handed over.

“Oh, it’s from Molly!” the girl cried, joyously, as she looked at the postmark. “Let’s see what she has to say. You may go, Ephy.”

“Yas’m,” responded the darkey, and with an elaborate bow he departed.

Tearing open the letter, Dorothy read as follows:

“I just know I shall like Molly Breckenridge,” cried Aurora. “Such a nice letter! I have already pictured in my mind the sort of girl that wrote it.”

“You will like her, Aurora, for she is one of the best girls that ever breathed. Full of mischief, yes, but with a heart as big as a mountain. There is nothing she won’t do for anyone fortunate enough to be called her friend.”

“I hope to be that fortunate before our trip is over. But you, Dorothy, are more than friend to her. One can see that from the tone of the letter.”

“I hope and believe I am her dearest chum.”

“You are my dearest chum, Dorothy Calvert!” cried Aunt Betty, who entered the room at this moment. “How are you, Aurora?”

“Very well, Mrs. Calvert.”

“I am glad to see you here. My little girl will get lonesome, I fear, unless her friends drop in frequently to see her.”

“I shall almost live over here, now Dorothy is home,” replied Aurora.

“Indeed she will,” Dorothy put in. “And Molly is coming, Aunt Betty!” Triumphantly she displayed the letter. “Ephy just brought it. Want to read it?”

“No; you can tell me all about it, dear,” returned Aunt Betty. “I am glad she is coming. I hardly thought she’d refuse. Judge Breckenridge is very good to her, and allows her to travel pretty much as she wills.”

The talk turned again to the camping trip.

“I have talked it over with Dorothy,” said Aunt Betty, “and we have decided to be ready Wednesday morning.”

“That will suit us fine,” said Aurora. “Gerald couldn’t get away before Tuesday anyway, and another day will not matter. He thinks we’d better plan to start in the cool of the morning, stopping for breakfast about eight o’clock at some village along the route—there are plenty of them, you know. The recent rains have settled the dust, and the trip, itself, should be very agreeable. We figure on being out only one night, reaching the mountains on the second morning. Of course, if pushed, the auto could make it in much less time, but Gerald thinks we’d better take our time and enjoy the ride.”

“The plan is a fine one,” said Aunt Betty, “especially the getting away in the early morning, before the hot part of the day sets in.”

“I thoroughly agree with you, auntie,” said Dorothy.

“If we fail to find a village,” Aunt Betty continued, “where we can get coffee and rolls, we will draw on our own supply of provisions and eat our breakfast en route. Or we can stop by the wayside, where Ephy can make a fire and I can make some coffee.”

“Oh, you make my mouth water,” said Aurora, who knew that Aunt Betty Calvert’s coffee was famous for miles around.

Aurora took her leave a short while later, and hardly had she gone before Gerald Blank drew up in front of the Calvert place in his big automobile and cried out for Jim and Ephraim.

Neither the boy nor the negro needed a second invitation. Each had been keen in anticipation of the ride—Jim because of his natural interest in mechanism of any sort; Ephraim because he felt proud of the title “chauffeur,” which Aurora had bestowed upon him, and was curious to have his first lesson in running “dat contraption,” as he termed it.

“I tell you, Gerald, she’s a dandy,” said Jim, after the boys had shaken hands and made a few formal inquiries about the interval which had elapsed since last they met. As Jim spoke, his eye roamed over the long torpedo body of the big touring car.

Straight from the factory but a few weeks since, replete with all the latest features, the machine represented the highest perfection of skilled mechanical labor. The body was enameled in gray and trimmed in white, after the fashion of many of the torpedo type of machines which were then coming into vogue.

Seeing Jim’s great interest, Gerald, who was already a motor enthusiast, went from one end of the car to the other, explaining all the fine points.

“There is not a mechanical feature of the Ajax that has not been thoroughly proven out in scores of successful cars,” he said. “Now, here, for instance, is the engine.” Throwing back the hood of the machine, the boy exposed the mechanism. “That’s the Renault type of motor, known as ‘the pride of France,’ and one of the finest ever invented. Great engineers have gone on record that the men who put the Ajax car together have advanced five years ahead of the times. You will notice, Jim, that the engine valves are all on one side. You’re enough of a mechanician to appreciate the advantage of that. It makes it simple and compact, and gives great speed and power. We should have little trouble in traveling seventy miles an hour, if we chose.”

“Lordy, we ain’t gwine tuh chose!” cried Eph.

“Why, I thought you had the speed mania, Ephy,” was Gerald’s good-natured retort.

“Don’ know jes’ w’at dat is, Mistah Gerald, but I ain’t got hit—no, sah, I ain’t got hit.”

“Now, Jim,” Gerald continued, as they bent over to look under the car, “you see the gear is of the selective sliding type, which has been adopted by all the high grade cars. And back here is what they term a floating axle. The wheels and tires are both extra large—in fact, there is nothing about the car, that I’ve been able to discover, that is not the best in the business.”

“What a fine automobile agent you’d make, Gerald!”

“Do you think so?”

“Surely. You spiel it off like a professional. The only difference is, I feel what you say is true. I am greatly taken with that engine, and should like to see it run.”

“When we start in a moment, you shall have that pleasure. Of course, I could run it for you now, while the machine is standing still, but they say it’s poor practice to race your engine. If you do so, the wear and tear is something awful.”

“I’d heard that, but had forgotten,” said Jim.

“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.