was Tom, sitting grinning cheerfully in an ancient and disreputable Ford. How ancient and how disreputable were revealed by his first words.
"Bought it in town for fifty dollars!" he called. "Ain't but half broke at that; tried to buck me out more than once. But it sure can go."
He was enormously proud of it. That its cushions were broken, with gaping holes from which the hair filling protruded, and that its mudguards were bent and its radiator a shame that cried aloud, meant nothing to him. It was his, and it could go. He even made her get in beside him, and raced down the road.
"Little old engine's sure purring fine."
"Wonderful. And it doesn't matter how it looks, if it can travel."
His face fell.
"I suppose it looks pretty poor to you, after that garageful back east."
"I wasn't thinking of that."
But she had been, for a moment.
