She had the feeling of the car bursting out from under control ... ready
to leap off the road, into a wash. She wanted to jump. It took all her
courage to stay in the seat. She got what pressure she could from the
remaining band. With one hand she kept the accelerating car in the
middle of the road; with the other she tried to pull the handle of the
emergency brake back farther. She couldn't. She was not strong enough.
Faster, faster, rushing at the next curve so that she could scarce steer
round it---As quietly as she could, she demanded of her father, "Pull back on this
brake lever, far as you can. Take both hands."
"I don't understand----"
"Heavens! Y' don't haft un'stand! Yank back! Yank, I tell you!"
Again the car slowed. She was able to get into second speed. Even that
check did not keep the car from darting down at thirty miles an
hour--which pace, to one who desires to saunter down at a dignified rate
of eighteen, is equivalent in terms of mileage on level ground to
seventy an hour, with a drunken driver, on a foggy evening, amid
traffic.
She got the car down and, in the midst of a valley of emptiness and
quiet, she dropped her head on her father's knee and howled.
"I just can't face going down another hill! I just can't face it!" she
sobbed.
"No, dolly. Mustn't. We better---- You're quite right. This young
Daggett is a very gentlemanly fellow. I didn't think his
table-manners---- But we'll sit here and regard the flora and fauna till
he comes. He'll see us through."
"Yes! He will! Honestly, dad----" She said it with the first touch of
hero-worship since she had seen an aviator loop loops. "Isn't he, oh,
effective! Aren't you glad he's here to help us, instead of somebody
like Jeff Saxton?"
"We-ul, you must remember that Geoffrey wouldn't have permitted the
brake to burn out. He'd have foreseen it, and have had a branch office,
with special leased wire, located back on that hill, ready to do
business the instant the market broke. Enthusiasm is a nice quality,
dolly, but don't misplace it. This lad, however trustworthy he may be,
would scarcely even be allowed to work for a man like Geoffrey Saxton.
It may be that later, with college----"
"No. He'd work for Jeff two hours. Then Jeff would give him that 'You
poor fish!' look, and Milt would hit him, and stroll out, and go to the
North Pole or some place, and discover an oil-well, and hire Jeff as his
nice, efficient general manager. And---- I do wish Milt would hurry,
though!"
It was dusk before they heard the pit-pit-pit chuckling down the hill.
Milt's casual grin changed to bashfulness as Claire ran into the road,
her arms wide in a lovely gesture of supplication, and cried, "We been
waiting for you so long! One of my brake-bands is burnt out, and the
other is punk."