"Tell them to send for the doctor," he said. "I don't know what's the matter with him, but he's groaning horribly, and needs looking after quick."
While mamma went off to telephone, papa began to do fuss-cat about the Dauntless. Papa's a brave man in most things, and his courage was about the only capital he came West with; but it balked at running the touring car single-handed. There was never such an old woman on the bubble question. He can get more wear and tear out of one sooty spark plug, more nervous worry, desperation, and despair, than most men from a whole lifetime of crime or politics; and that's where Albert had this awful hold on him. He had quite got it into his head—helped by Albert, of course—that without this mechanical human wonder it was hopeless to expect the Dauntless to run a yard. If she snaps a wire, or sticks anywhere, papa always looks on at Albert as though he was watching Edison invent the first phonograph. I hate to say it
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