"It's settled!" cried Dad. "This is quite the nicest thing that ever
happened," said Mr. Porter. "If only you knew how grateful I am. I
feel like--like giving three cheers, and tossing my hat in the air."
"The inferior court rules against hat-tossing as irrelevant,
immaterial, and incompetent."
"Ruling sustained," I said.
"And they call this a free country!"
"The newspapers don't. Read the newspapers my boy."
"At any rate, I now belong to the privileged class. When do we
leave, Mr. Middleton?"
"Elizabeth says to-morrow. We go by rather a slow train."
"But why?" I began.
"Because, my dear, an all-wise Providence has decreed that express
trains shall not haul private cars."
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Mr. Porter. "That makes all the difference in
the world."
"Only a day's difference."
"I mean . . ."
"You're going as our guest, you know."
"But really, Mr. Middleton, I never . . ."
"Don't be absurd, my boy."
"No," said Mr. Blakely Porter, "I won't be absurd. I shall be more
than glad to go as your guest."
"That's the way it should be. Isn't it, Elizabeth!"
"I didn't know you owned a private car, Dad."
"Pshaw!" said Dad. "What's a private car?"
I smiled at what I was pleased to term "Dad's magnificence," little
thinking I was soon to look on private cars as one of the most
delectable of modern inventions.
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