HE affair of the purse, painful though it had been for Marjorie, helped restore Dolliver's perspective to a certain extent, so that when he took luncheon with Holden, one day during the following week, he was able to tell him—a little ruefully, to be sure, but nevertheless with some perception of its humorous aspects—the story of their first experience in playing the automobile game and his resultant loss of a large order.
"By Jove, that was tough!" Holden's tone was sympathetic, in spite of his irrepressible laughter. "And just like Corbin, from all I hear of him. I don't know him personally, but a classmate of mine was his secretary for a while, and he says the old man's not so bad when you get used to him, but he's certainly 'from Missouri'!"
"I told him," Dolliver said, in repeating this to Marjorie the next day, "that Corbin must have left Missouri a long time ago, for he wouldn't even let me 'show' him! Instead, he 'showed' me—the door, confound him!"
"Old curmudgeon!" she returned, with satisfying vigor. "I hope the people he gave that order to cheated him!"
"H'mph! They didn't!" Page laughed shortly. "Corbin may or may not be 'from Missouri,' but nobody cheats him much."
"Well, he cheats himself out of a lot, anyway," remarked his wife. "There's some comfort in that! And let's not let him spoil anything more for us. What's the use? We're almost at the end of this adorable road, and it's far too lovely to be sprinkled with Curmudgeon."
"That's right!" Page turned to her with a smile. "Let's forget it." And then he sighed.
They had been droning peacefully through a leafy byway, stopping now and then for the full enjoyment of a view or to listen to a bird's song, and they approached with reluctance the oiled and crowded turnpike, along which in either direction whirled countless other automobiles filled with veiled, goggled, dun-colored figures.
"I wonder just what a lot of these people get out of a day in the country?" Marjorie queried, contemplatively, desiring to change the current of her husband's thought.
"Chiefly speed, and an opportunity to show off, in some cases," he returned. "In others—well, you know what it means to us. What one gets out of the country depends largely upon what one brings to it, I fancy—which, by the way, was more briefly and comprehensively said by a person named Emerson, several years ago."
"Well, I hope most of them bring more than they seem to," she rejoined. "Apparently, they look at nothing but the road ahead. See, nobody even so much as notices those kiddies, though they're working so hard to attract attention. Stop a minute, dear. Let's see what they want."
Just beyond the point where the byway ended in the highway two children stood in the grass beside the road, holding up a shabby basket and turning eager faces toward the occupants of each passing car. Now, as the Dollivers swung out to the edge of the thoroughfare and paused, the little ones ran toward them, calling:
"Butter 'n' eggs! Butter 'n' eggs! Don't you want to buy some butter 'n' eggs?"
The girl, who was perhaps eight years old, was dark and slender, her clear, bright brown eyes framed in an alert, expressive face, while the boy, a year or two her junior, had yellow hair, plump red cheeks, and large, round, placid eyes of the most cerulean blue. Their clothing, although reasonably clean, was worn and faded and much patched, as well as somewhat outgrown, and both wore torn straw hats.
"Where do you get your butter?" asked Dolliver, regarding them quizzically. "Do you keep a dairy-farm, you two?"
"It's mother's. She makes it," replied the little girl. "It's nice, fresh country butter. Oh, please buy some! And eggs—"
"Nice, fresh country eggs. Please buy some," echoed the boy.
"Butter and eggs, eh? Let's see 'em." As Page reached out to take the basket Marjorie leaned forward, with an infectious smile to which both children instantly responded.
"My name is Mrs. Dolliver. I wonder what yours is?"
"Mine's Katie McManus, and his is Jimmie. He's my little brother."
"'N' she's my sister," proclaimed the boy.
"Look here," exclaimed Dolliver, who had lifted a corner of the white cloth covering the basket and was peering inside. "What's this you're trying to unload on us? A gold brick?"
"It's butter," said both children, in a breath.