Mr. Alexander drove through the Alsatian country with keen interest, for the costumes and beauty of the peasants were so attractive that the tourists liked to watch them and take snapshots of picturesque groups.

Mr. Fabian directed Mr. Alexander to take the road to Lyons as he wished to have the girls visit the factories where silk, velvet and velour were manufactured. Nancy Fabian had wearied of Mrs. Alexander’s endless chatter about her million and the Count, and why anyone like the Osgoods should lift their heads when they were so poor and proud!

So the day the two cars started for the Alps, (Mr. Alexander hoping to cross them and stop over-night on the other side,) Mrs. Fabian took her place beside Mrs. Alexander, in the roadster. The small car usually trailed the seven-passenger car, but this day the order was accidentally changed, while climbing the mountains.

It was rough travelling at the best, but the higher the cars climbed the rougher became the road, and at last the steep trail narrowed so that it was almost impossible to pass another car on the same roadway.

But the views were so wonderful and the mountains so majestic, that everyone was silent and deeply impressed. The cars ascended one peak after another, and as each summit was reached the autoists sat and marvelled at the height of the mountain and wondered at the views. Then they would seem to drop sheer down again to the valley between the two peaks. This mode of travelling continued for a long rime, until one of the highest peaks of the Alps towered before them. This cloud-piercing mountain-top once passed over, they would reach the border line of Italy and begin descending the range again.

Mrs. Alexander was a fairly good driver, but she had more assurance in her ability than her understanding actually warranted. She was talking nonsensically, as usual, with half her mind on the road and the other half interested in what she was picturing to her companion, when she turned a sharp curve in the road.

“Oh-OH!” she screamed, as she tried to use the emergency brake and turn the wheel to avoid a great boulder which had rolled down upon the path.

But she had not held the machine sufficiently in hand to instantly benefit her, when the occasion unexpectedly arose that needed presence of mind. Consequently the new roadster struck the rock with enough force to crush in the radiator and headlights. The second car came around the curve, the passengers having heard the shrill scream and looking fearfully for the catastrophe they believed to have happened to the two women.

The shock of the collision had thrown Mrs. Alexander across the wheel while her head broke the wind-shield; but Mrs. Fabian had instantly clutched the side and back of the seat and was only badly shaken. Everyone in the touring car jumped out and rushed over to see if either of the ladies had been seriously hurt. Mrs. Alexander groaned and held her side but could not speak.

“This is a fine pickle!” exclaimed Mr. Alexander. “On top of the wurrold, and no sign of any help at hand to do anything for you. Even the blamed old knob on this peak had to roll down and block the way.”

Mrs. Fabian was trying to make her companion speak and tell them where she was injured, but she shook her head as if unable to speak. Dodo and her father addressed her by every affectionate name they could think of, and begged her to say what hurt. Her face was slightly cut but the blood made it seem appalling to others.

“If you’ll only get over this, Maggie, I’ll never put another straw in your way of hooking a title,” begged Mr. Alexander, his expression a mixture of renunciation and misery.

After many minutes filled with suspense for the motorists, and the same time filled by Mrs. Alexander’s groans and helpless rolling of her eyes from one to another of the distracted motorists, she gradually recovered enough to whisper: “The wheel must have fractured my ribs. I can feel the sharp ends of the splintered bones cut me everytime I breathe, or move a muscle.”

Mrs. Fabian then ordered the men to retire back of the big car, while she helped the girls in gently lifting the injured lady and placing her out flat on the comfortable seat of the roadster. With many a cry and catching of breath, the patient was finally stretched out.

“Now I shall have to cut your gown open in front to get at your stays,” said Mrs. Fabian, using the small scissors she kept in her large handbag.

Mrs. Alexander tried to object at having her expensive suit ruined, but Dodo held her hands while the scissors cut their way up and down. Once the outer clothing was opened the cause of the sharp point of the “fracture” was revealed.

“Thank goodness, Mrs. Alexander, that it is no worse!” exclaimed Mrs. Fabian, and the girls seconded that exclamation as they found the front steels of the stays had broken and were digging into the flesh under them.

The silken corsets were soon slashed through and the broken fronts removed, then Dodo said to her mother: “Take a deep breath, now.”

“O—oh—I’m afraid to, Dodo. It will hurt!” whimpered Mrs. Alexander.

“No it won’t! Mrs. Fabian managed to pull the steels out and she doesn’t believe any of your ribs are broken.”

So, holding tightly to her daughter’s hand to encourage her, Mrs. Alexander breathed lightly. As she felt no sharp dagger thrust of pain, she took a deeper breath, and finally reassured herself that her bones were as good as ever. At last she sat up and began fretting over her damaged travelling suit, in such a tone that everyone around her, knew she was fully recovered.

While this “first aid” had been going on, no one noticed the pebbles that were dropping from the over-hanging crags that seemed to bolster up the peak above them. But when Mrs. Alexander found she could move and get out of the car, some of the stones struck the girls. They gazed up but could see nothing beyond the high run of crag that faced the roadway, consequently, they moved from under the shower which kept getting worse.

Mr. Fabian ran up now and expressed deepest concern as he said: “Everyone try to get under that great rock, at once. I’ll shove the roadster under the cliff, too.”

“Where’s Pa?” cried Dodo, sensing some unusual danger.

“Here he comes!” called Polly, seeing Mr. Alexander driving his car close up under the rocks.

The moment the car was halted close in to the bank, Mr. Alexander jumped out and ran to help Mr. Fabian push and pull the damaged roadster under the cliff, also.

“What’s the matter, anyway?” asked Mrs. Alexander, looking about at the others for information. But they seemed as much at sea as she was. All but Polly, who knew from experience what the signs portended.

“It looks like a slide, but it may be diverted before it goes over us.” Her trembling voice and awed expression impressed her companions more than the words she had spoken.

“That’s what I feared, and we’ve done the only thing possible—to crouch under the cliff and wait,” added Mr. Fabian.

Mr. Alexander now took out his old black pipe and tobacco bag. As he carefully pulled open the yellow cord at the top of the cheap cotton bag he smiled and gazed at his friends. “You-all don’ know how sorry I am for you, to think you-all can’t take a smoke to kill the time we has to sit here.”

Mr. Fabian felt encouraged instantly by the wonderful acting of the little man who could thus speak and smile and joke, in face of what was now thundering and rumbling overhead—ever coming nearer the group huddling under the cliffs.

“Nothin’ like tobac to soothe the feelin’s when you’ve had a punctured rib or tire! If Maggie could only enjoy a whiff of this old friend of mine, she’d soon have got over her pain.”

That irritated his wife so that she snapped back: “Yes, a whiff of that would have killed me outright!”

The others laughed uneasily but the tense spell caused by the imminent danger was broken. Mr. Alexander puffed contentedly, but during this short exchange of conjugal sentiments of husband and wife, the slide rolled onward, and the roar now became so deafening that no one could hear a thing other than the thunder of the avalanche. Polly was the only one who really comprehended the full danger, but she showed no fear or nervousness, although she was doubtful as to the outcome of this mountain disaster.

Rocks, roots, and all kinds of dÉbris half-frozen in snow now rolled over the cliffs and dropped over down the sides into the ravine that ran along the other side of the narrow roadway. At the quaking caused by the onrush of the avalanche, the automobiles rattled like tin toys and the cowering humans who tried to push still farther back into the rocky wall, watched the fragments of rock fall from overhead and pile upon the roadway.

The whole dreadful occurrence, thus far, had not taken more than a few minutes since the first pebble struck the roadster, but now was heard a terrible splitting and crashing as if two planets were colliding; then the very cliff where they sat seemed to roll over and shake the earth. The frightened tourists clung to each other and screamed in a panic, but the worst was really over.

The last horror was caused by the sudden impact of the land-slide when it struck the solid wall of rock that rose sheer up back of the cliff which skirted the road for tourists. This wall diverted the avalanche and threw it along the gully which had been made by other preceding snow-slides in the past. Had the present slide been able to crush the rocky wall and come straight on down the mountain sides, nothing earthly could have spared the tourists from being powdered under the grinding of rock and ice.

The roar and tumult of the avalanche continued a few minutes longer, but it gradually died away and Mr. Fabian stood tremblingly upon his feet and tried to see which way the slide had gone.

“Humph! ‘A miss is as good as a mile’!” quoted Mr. Alex.

“Maybe; but don’t you go out to survey until we-all are sure this shower of ice and trash is safely past us,” advised Polly.

“Don’t you think we had better get from under this cliff?” asked Eleanor, nervously.

“If it stood that shock, it will last a few moments more, I reckon,” replied Mr. Alexander.

The other members in the party were too frightened at seeing the rocks and ice that still poured over the cliff, to speak a word. When the dropping had ceased, however, and the roar was diminishing, Polly heaved an audible sigh.

“Well, folkses! That’s over! I’ve been in slides on the Rockies, but I never felt so queer as this one made me feel. When you understand your ground well, and can reckon on what might hold or what might give way, you feel easier. But on the Alps where all is new and strange to me, I wasn’t sure of this cliff being able to resist the impact.”

“Then it was very dangerous for us, was it?” gasped Mrs. Alexander, paling under the rouge on her face.

“Danger! Oh no—no more than jumpin’ off that precipice for a lark!” laughed Mr. Alexander, knocking the half-smoked ashes from his old pipe, and tucking the black friend away in his pocket.

“Well, Ebeneezer, when I see you waste good tobacco like that, I know you are so unbalanced that you don’t know what you’re doing,” retorted Mrs. Alexander.

This remark caused a laugh and everyone felt better immediately. Then Mr. Fabian turned to the little man and said: “We had better see how much damage is done to the roadster. Perhaps it will have to be towed to the next stopping place.”

It took another good hour to overhaul the little car and even then it was found to be too badly damaged to travel under its own power. While the two men were trying to repair the car, the girls worked to clear away the stones and dÉbris that encumbered and blocked the road. The large rock that had caused the accident to Mrs. Alexander’s car, could be avoided, with careful steering, if the other trash was out of the way.

Polly showed her companions how to construct rough brooms of the brush that had fallen over the cliff, and soon they were sweeping for dear life, with the queer-looking implements. But the brush-brooms did the work thoroughly, and when the cars were ready to continue on the way, the road was cleared.

“Prof., before we leave here, I think we ought to place a sort of warning on the other side of that awful heap and the chasms in the roadway that the avalanche caused. We might use the red-silk shirt-waist I have in the bag,” said Polly, anxiously.

“Or go on to report to the nearest forester we meet,” said Mr. Alexander, from his western experience.

“We’ll do both,” returned Mr. Fabian. “It won’t take long to ram a pole in the dÉbris and tie the red flag on it, but it may save others a great deal of danger.”

“Better still, if we can crawl over the slide that is piled high up on the trail, I might tie the flag to a young tree far enough down the roadway to spare anyone the climb to this narrow pass where they cannot turn around,” added Polly.

So Mr. Fabian and Polly managed to creep warily over the obstructions which were heaped over the roadway and, further down the trail, they found a tree that grew beside the road. Here the red blouse signal was left flying from the stripped young tree, and a warning was printed on the white silk cuff, telling of the dangers ahead in the path.

When the tourists were settled in the cars again, the large car leading and the crippled roadster being towed behind, they felt that they had done their duty and expressed their deep gratitude for their own safety, by leaving the signal flag for others to see and read.

It was slow work zig-zagging down the great height, as the little car could not work its brakes very well, and it had to be held back by the rear mud-guards of the leading car. But the breathless descent was finally accomplished and in the valley they found a tiny garage, placed there for the repairing of damaged automobiles.

“I shouldn’t think it would pay you to keep up a shop in this isolated spot,” remarked Mr. Fabian, when the mechanic was working on Mrs. Alexander’s car.

“But you don’t know how many tourists cross the Alps in summer; everyone finds something wrong, or runs out of gas, by the time they reach this valley,” explained the man.

Before the tourists were ready to depart, a number of cars had driven up, asked for gas or repairs, and then were told of the land-slide on top of the peak. This spared them climbing, as they could go by another road. The passengers in these cars were most grateful to Mr. Fabian’s party for the information, thus several parties had been benefited, before a crimson car drove up and a handsome young man called to the mechanic.

“Is this the right road over Top Pass?”

“Yes, but you can’t pass,” returned the man, then he told of the experiences the people in the American party had just had.

“My, that must have been some excitement! Wish we had been there,” cried the other young man, eagerly.

“Are you an American?” asked Mr. Fabian, certain of it even as he spoke, because the accent and manner of speech was Yankee.

The two young men exchanged looks with each other, and one replied: “We lived in the United States for many years.”

This speaker was about twenty-two or three, but the other one was younger. They both were exceptionally good-looking and free in their manner. It could be readily seen that their car and clothes were of the best, and one would naturally conclude that they were wealthy young men touring Europe for pleasure.

The roadster was now repaired and ready to be used, so the bill was paid and Mrs. Alexander got in. Mrs. Fabian was rather timid about trusting herself with such a chauffeur again, so Mr. Fabian seated himself beside the owner of the car.

“Which way do you go from here?” called out one of the strange young men.

“On to Turin,” answered Mr. Alexander.

“Do you mind if we follow you? We lost our way to Turin, somewhere, back there, and when we found ourselves here we decided to go on and not stop at Turin.”

This sounded rather lame for an excuse, but no one could refuse permission for the boys to follow, if they wanted to—so Mr. Alexander shouted back at them: “This air is free, and so is the earth! Foller what you like, as long as you don’t run us down and make us stop for another over-haulin’ of the cars.”

The young men laughed and thanked the sarcastic little man, but the girls smiled as they wondered if this change in route—or minds of the two young men—was caused by seeing a number of pretty misses in the touring car?

The day was far spent when the roadster was in a shape to continue the tour, and Turin was many a mile away. So it was found to be impossible to reach there that night. The recent experience with the avalanche had caused a reaction, too, and as everyone felt worn out with the tension, it was decided to stop at a small inn in the foot-hills of the Alps.

The automobiles had been left in the shed that was used for the cows and oxen, and the travellers entered the low-ceiled primitive room with ravenous appetites. The inn-keeper was cooking at a huge fireplace at the end of the room, and the odor of bacon and onions permeated the entire place.

“Oh!” sighed Eleanor, rolling her eyes upwards, “I never smelled anything so delicious!”

“Yet you abominate onions at other times,” laughed Polly.

“It all depends on the state of your appetite,” retorted Eleanor.

When the tourists were refreshed by washing and brushing, they returned to the great living-room. The two young strangers were there before them. The older of the two acted as spokesman and now introduced himself and his companion.

“This is my cousin, Alan Everard, of Winnipeg, Canada. And I am Basil Traviston, a resident of California, but not a native of that State.”

Mr. Fabian introduced his wife, and the other members of his party by name only, without mentioning the city or state whence they came. All through supper hour he maintained a dignified attitude which was meant to warn off any young men with dangerously good looks. But he might as well have tried to build a snow-man under the heat of a July sun.

Both young men were so charming, and told many witty stories which kept their audience in stitches of laughter that it was generally conceded, afterward, the two were most desirable fellow-travellers. Mr. and Mrs. Fabian sat up a full hour after the girls were asleep, however, trying to pick a flaw in the behavior of the two strangers, which might form a basis for the separation from the touring party. When all was said and done, the only tangible excuse was the fact that they were both so handsome and unknown.

The next morning the three cars started for Turin, and during the tiresome ride the two young men managed to keep up an exchange of interesting remarks that amused everyone. When they stopped for luncheon in the middle of the day, the two boys insisted upon waiting on the ladies and making themselves generally useful.

The time came for the tourists to get in their cars again, but Mrs. Alexander had taken a decided liking for the younger of the two young men—Alan Everard. So she invited him to travel in her car, and that left Mr. Fabian without a place.

“It’s only as far as Turin, you know,” explained Mrs. Alexander, trying to smile sweetly on the guide of the touring party.

Rather than create any unpleasantness, Mr. Fabian got in beside Basil Traviston. But he was determined, as long as he was forced to accept the seat, to learn more about the two new additions to his party.

After a perfunctory exchange of sentiments, Mr. Fabian said: “Your name is very English, and the fact that your cousin is from Winnipeg, leads me to judge that you both are of English descent.”

“My cousin’s real name is not Everard—that is his first name; but we both are travelling incognito on the Continent, as our titles and names are so well-known that people stand to stare, and annoy us with their interest. So we decided to travel unknown, this season.”

Mr. Fabian frowned, and glanced side-ways from his eyes, to see if the young man was presuming upon his intelligence. But Traviston was driving with a most guileless expression. In fact, no handsome babe could have appeared more innocent than he.

“It really seems as if we have been unusually blessed—or cursed, I don’t know which—with young men who claim titles. Mrs. Alexander wished so intensely for titled young men to travel with, it looks as if she attracted them to our party,” said Mr. Fabian, smiling cynically.

“Is that so?” returned Traviston, but his tone and expression failed to show any resentment or interest in the information. Mr. Fabian wondered, and decided not to tread on thin ice any more, just then.

But Mrs. Alexander was faring much better with the young man in her car. Almost immediately after they had resumed the tour she asked pointedly: “Your cousin’s name, and yours as well, is very English. Perhaps you belong to an old family?”

“Oh yes,” returned Everard. “Both of us came over, this year, on purpose to trace our family-trees. I have learned that my people go back to Adam without a break.”

“Not really!” gasped Mrs. Alexander, astonished at such a long line of ancestry.

“Yes, and Basil now believes he can antedate Adam, and trace some facts about his ancestry that started with a missing link.” Young Everard laughed softly as he spoke, but his companion never having heard of Darwin, believed every word he said; whereas he thought she knew he was joking.

“You and your cousin must be young men of leisure, or you couldn’t spend a whole summer touring Europe in such an expensive car. I noticed how sporty the car was, before I saw either of you,” said Mrs. Alexander.

“That’s just it. When Basil and I work, we have to work like Trojans. But when we finish a contract we take life easy until the next job comes up.”

“Oh, you work? I wouldn’t have said so. What sort of contract work do you do?” asked Mrs. Alexander. The pedestal she had used for her two new heroes, seemed shaking dangerously.

Everard laughed. “Some people laugh at what we call work, but they don’t realize that playing is the hardest kind of work. I sometimes think I will chuck the whole game and knuckle down to the real thing—work that is called work. But money is sweet, and if one likes to spend, then the weak little decision to work as others do, dies hard and I go on with the play.”

Mrs. Alexander suddenly realized that she had misunderstood the young man’s first words. Then he called “playing” his work, and with his money he found playing as hard a work as a poor man finds his labor. So she sympathized with his ideals and thought him a remarkable young man.

Before they reached Turin, she had her suspicions that he was a very important young man; for he had given her certain bits of information that told how well-known he and his cousin were, and how they dodged at certain places to travel incognito to avoid publicity.