NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
When Florence and Daisy learned that in accordance with Marjorie’s
system they were to drive together in the smaller car, they both
appeared somewhat distressed. For, of the six girls in the party, these
two were undoubtedly the most inexperienced.
“Shall we ask Marj to rearrange the plan?” suggested Daisy. “Because if
anything should happen—”
“Oh, nothing will happen, I guess!” replied Florence, reassuringly.
“Everything so far has been going so smoothly.”
“Yes, and I suppose we might as well learn to rely on ourselves if we
want to get any fun out of our own cars when we get them,” added her
companion.
Nevertheless the girls decided to go slowly, taking every precaution,
even though it put them quite far behind the other car. They did not
talk much, in order that they might better keep their minds upon the
driving; as novices they took their responsibility seriously.
“I’ve always heard that beginners grasp the steering-wheel too tightly,”
remarked Florence, after an interval. “Do you notice the air of
unconcern I’m putting on?”
“You’ve been doing very well,” Daisy assured her. “We’ve been going
pretty straight.”
“Yes,—until now. But I just can’t seem to keep away from the gutter.
Look, Daisy! It insists on going crooked!”
Her companion regarded attentively the course that the car was taking.
“I believe you’re right, Flos,” she admitted, reluctantly. “Could
anything be wrong with the wheel?”
A troubled expression came over the youthful driver’s face, as she made
the experiment again. This time she was certain, something assuredly was
in need of repair. She pulled up to the side of the road and stopped.
“I haven’t an idea what to look for—or where the trouble might be,” she
said. “But I think we had better investigate.”
Both girls got up anxiously, and stepped around in front of the car. A
glance informed them immediately of the cause of their distress; the
front tire was as flat as a burst balloon.
“A puncture!” exclaimed Daisy, woefully.
“Yes, here is the tack!” cried Florence. “No wonder that the wheel
wouldn’t go straight!”
They surveyed it for a moment in dismay, wondering whether they would be
able to repair it.
“Did you ever fix a puncture, Daisy?” asked Florence, although she was
almost sure that the reply would be in the negative.
“Never!” replied the other. “Did you?”
“No, sad to relate!”
“And we don’t know where Lily keeps her things—that’s the worst of it.
Still, I’ve often seen it done. And, as Marj always says, what other
girls can do, Girl Scouts can surely do!”
They began to rummage in the tool box, taking out every sort of tool
which they thought might be necessary. Finally Florence found the jack.
“This is the first thing to do!” she cried, holding it up triumphantly.
“If we can get it under the car, and make the car rise up in the air,
the hardest part will be done.”
Daisy placed the tool upon the ground under the front axle, and began to
work the lever. But the attempts at raising it into the higher notches
proved all in vain; each time she lifted it up, it slipped back again
the minute she released her hold. She gazed at Florence in despair.
“It won’t work!” she exclaimed, resigning her position to the other
girl. “I wish you’d try it!”
“Maybe it’s broken,” remarked Florence dolefully.
“No, I don’t believe so. Only there’s some trick to it—”
Florence took Daisy’s place now, and began to manipulate the obstinate
tool, and found it just as disobliging for her as it had been for her
companion. She did not even attempt to conceal her distress; in fact she
looked so mournful that the occupants of a passing car would not have
been human had they not stopped to offer assistance.
“Puncture?” inquired a pleasant voice behind them, and a middle-aged man
drew up his car beside the road. “Perhaps I can help?”
Both girls looked up eagerly and noted with bitterness that this man was
just the sort from whom one might accept assistance, had it not been for
the conditions of the journey. Florence hesitated a moment, as if she
could not decide how to word the refusal, so as to make it seem
courteous. At last she determined to tell the truth.
“I’m awfully sorry,” she explained, “but we are crossing the continent
with a party of girls who have pledged themselves not to accept help
from men along the road. It’s—it’s hard, too, for we don’t know much
about automobiles!” There was a little catch in her voice as she
concluded.
A whimsical smile came over the face of the stranger and he glanced
stealthily at the woman beside him.
“Then I suppose we must drive on,” he began, when Daisy abruptly
interrupted him.
“Could—could—does the lady know how to fix punctures?” she asked, her
eyes lighting up with hope.
The woman shook her head regretfully.
“I’m awfully sorry,” she replied, “but my husband has never taught me
anything about the car, and I’ve always been content to let him do it
all. I’m afraid that I’d know much less than you do yourselves.”
Daisy’s smile faded, but she pulled herself together sufficiently to
thank them and to bid them drive on.
“But can’t I just tell you how to work that jack?” asked the man. “Not
do it for you, you understand; just give you a pointer?”
“No, thank you just the same,” replied Florence, resolutely, “that
wouldn’t be fair. We’re grown-up Girl Scouts, and we have to be
trustworthy. So—” she made a violent effort to appear cheerful, “please
don’t let us waste any more of your time!”
As the machine drove away the girls turned again to their work, this
time with renewed energy; finally after about ten minutes’ sustained
effort, they succeeded in raising the car to the desired level. Without
waiting to rest even a moment, Florence seized the wrench and began
feverishly to turn the bolts. But here again she encountered difficulty,
apparently they grew tighter instead of looser.
“I can’t imagine what is the matter,” she said. “It isn’t as if Lily’s
car were new and stiff like the other. I’m sure all these tires have
been changed before.”
Daisy stood behind her, regarding her thoughtfully.
“Do you know, Flos,” she said slowly, “I believe that you’re turning
those nuts the wrong way!”
Florence stopped for a moment and frowned.
“I believe you’re right, Daisy,” she acceded. “Yes—I guess I am!”
Then both girls laughed unrestrainedly.
“Let me try,” suggested Daisy. “You’re all worn-out.”
But try as they did for the next fifteen minutes, they could not
unloosen all of the bolts that held the tire rim fast. At last they sat
down in despair on the step of the car, and wiped the perspiration from
their foreheads.
“I’m about ready to give up,” admitted Daisy. “I’m all in.”
“So am I,” agreed Florence. “Shall we ask the next man that comes
along?”
“I certainly hate to give in, but I’d almost be tempted to accept an
offer if we got one.”
“And forfeit our hope of winning the machines?” Florence reminded her.
“Oh, surely, Daisy, we’re too good sports for that.”
“Well, we would have our trip, anyhow. We wouldn’t be expected to turn
back just for that.”
“I don’t know,” answered Florence. “Let’s rest for a while, and attack
it later on. Maybe a woman will come along—”
“Or maybe the girls will miss us and come back to help.”
“Or—maybe—maybe—” Florence strained her eyes—“yes! Daisy! Here comes the
red car!”
“Not the one Alice has been so excited about?” Daisy jumped to her feet
in her emotion.
“Yes, it is! And what’s more, they’re slowing down!”
“Oh, Flos, let’s let them help us! I’m so tired. And the rules that old
lady made are so ridiculous—she must be crazy!”
“Yes, I’d agree she was sort of crazy; who else would pay the expenses
of six unknown people across the continent, just for the pleasure of
presenting them with automobiles? We may never see the cars,
anyway!—Still—I almost believe this may be some sort of trap, as Alice
thinks. Maybe the boys are going to try to tempt us.”
“Well, then we won’t give in!” announced Daisy, with sudden energy. “I’m
not going to accept their help if I have to stay here a month!”
“That’s the spirit!” cried Florence.
Both girls turned to their wheel again, and pretended to be deeply
absorbed in their task as the brightly colored car drew up beside them.
Neither looked up until one of the young men spoke.
“Pardon me,” he began, in a soft, drawling tone, “but isn’t there some
way we could assist you young ladies?”
Florence and Daisy now had an opportunity to obtain a good look at these
two youths, who had been so much in their minds during the previous day.
Both were of blond complexion, with light eyes, which were covered by
goggles; both were exceedingly well dressed in correct motor attire,
their clothing bearing the unmistakable mark of the expensive tailor. In
spite of themselves the girls were impressed.
“I’m awfully sorry,” replied Florence as graciously as she could, “but
we are not allowed to accept help from any members of the opposite sex.
You see—” she smiled as she saw a puzzled expression on the strangers’
faces—“you see we are travelling across the country with a party, and
that is one of the regulations!”
“How queer!” exclaimed the other young man, who up to this time had not
spoken. “It sounds like nuns in a convent—”
“No, not nuns,” returned Daisy; “only Girl Scouts.”
“Then you mean to say that we can’t even fix your puncture for you?”
continued the stranger. “What utter nonsense! Why do you put up with any
such fool rule?”
“Because the old lady who made it has arranged it to be worth our while
to keep it,” explained Florence. She watched the young men narrowly to
see whether they would show any signs of knowledge of the affair, as
Alice believed. But they appeared only politely curious.
“We’re to receive run-abouts if we make the trip as our sponsor
dictated,” she added. “So you better believe that we won’t let a little
puncture stop us.”
While this conversation was going on, Daisy was racking her brain for a
method of learning the young men’s names, so that she might put Alice’s
theory to test. She could think of no way which was not abrupt;
nevertheless she meant to risk anything for the sake of information.
“We have seen your car before,” she remarked, glancing over at the red
racer beside them. “It is such a brilliant color—and—well—you have
passed us several times!”
Both young men smiled in amusement.
“It did look rather strange, I guess,” admitted the taller, better
looking man; “if you didn’t know our reason. We really aren’t following
you, though it might seem so. We’re travelling across the continent
too—and stopping in the principal towns to look up fraternity brothers.
In fact,” the young man concluded, “we are rounding up as many as we can
for a convention in September.”
“Oh, I see,” said Florence, turning again to the wheel, and this time,
to her extreme delight, succeeding in unloosening a nut. “Then perhaps
we shall meet you again!”
“That would be delightful,” he murmured courteously; then, leaning down,
he almost took the wrench from Florence’s hand.
“Just let me do this one—it’s a tough one, I see!” he pleaded. “Nobody
will see, and we’ll never tell.”
“No, no!” cried Florence, impetuously. “No, Mr.—?” She stopped,
questioningly.
“McDaniel,” supplied the young man, straightening up again and searching
in his pocket for his card. His companion followed his example and a
moment later each girl had in her possession the means of identifying
both men. The names which they read were:
“Clyde Rutgers McDaniel”
and
“Vincent S. Cryton, Jr.”
Alice’s theory was abruptly smashed to pieces! Still the young men made
no movement to go. “Flos, you are worn-out!” exclaimed Daisy, with
concern. “Let’s allow Mr. McDaniel and Mr. Cryton to finish, since they
insist. After all, I don’t care so awfully much about owning a car. It
would be a dreadful nuisance, with its punctures and things—” Mr.
McDaniel made a motion to comply with the request and threw off his
coat. Florence looked up, her face flushed with the effort, and caught
sight of another machine with two more young men slowly approaching. But
a sudden resolution took possession of her, and her eyes flashed
defiantly.
“No! I am getting it now,” she replied. “And—I don’t want to seem rude,
but I’d really rather that you people would go on. We’ll work faster—”
“Oh, certainly!” agreed Cryton, humbly. “We don’t want to intrude—”
“And we thank you just the same,” added Daisy.
“You’re sure that we can’t help?” asked McDaniel, for the last time, as
he went towards his own car. Then, remembering that he still had not
learned the girl’s names, he turned about abruptly and asked them.
“Florence Evans and Daisy Gravers,” replied the latter, immediately. “We
haven’t our cards—”
“Oh, we won’t forget them!” returned McDaniel, as he started the engine.
“Goodbye—till we see you again!”
“Goodbye!” called both girls together.
As soon as the machine was out of hearing distance, the girls began to
discuss the visit, and to laugh over Alice’s mistake.
“I knew her theory was a wild one,” remarked Florence. “Alice does fly
off the handle, you know. Maybe she takes after that aunt of hers.”
“And aren’t you crazy to see the others and tell them all about it?”
asked Daisy. “Our puncture did one good thing, anyhow. Now, let’s work
fast.”
The rest and the fresh impetus to work gave the girls new courage, and
they attacked the remainder of their task with added energy. In a very
few minutes they succeeded in getting the tire off; after that it was a
simple matter to adjust the spare, gather up their tools and go on.
After this rather extended delay, they naturally did not expect to catch
up to the other car for some time, and were therefore greatly surprised
to see it in less than ten minutes. Florence blew her horn continuously
until she attracted the other girls’ attention; then Ethel stopped and
waited for her to pull up along side of her car. A moment later they
were comparing experiences.
“And did our friends of the bright red car stop and offer to help you?”
asked Florence, casually, careful however to keep her eyes fastened upon
Alice. The latter started visibly.
“No!” she cried. “Did they to you?”
“Yes—and we refused them.”
“Naturally,” replied Marjorie. “But did you get their names?”
Florence handed the cards to the girls in the other machine, while she
told of their reason for such zigzag driving as they were engaging in.
“I don’t believe in any fraternity story!” exclaimed Alice. “Those are
assumed names! They’re—they’re—”
But the others interrupted her with their laughter.
“All the same,” remarked Marjorie, as Ethel started her motor again, “I
can’t help thinking that maybe Alice is on the right track! Maybe they
had something to do with scattering those tacks!”
And the girls gave some thought to the conjecture, for it was Marjorie
Wilkinson who had uttered it.