The Flyers | Page 7

horror, "my
perfume bottles!"
"Good Lord!" he gasped.
"I thought you were going to catch it. Oh, here's the ladder. Do you
think I'll fall? Oh, oh!"
"Don't be afraid. Climb out, dear--and hurry!"
She was brave enough in the crisis. While he held the bottom of the
ladder she scrambled through the window and hurried downward.
Before she reached the bottom he lifted her from the ladder in his
strong arms and held her close for a moment.
"Take the ladder down, dearest," she whispered between kisses. "I don't
want mother to know I left that way--not just yet,--nor Mr.
Windomshire, either."
"Come this way," he whispered, after replacing the ladder. "I left the
car just around the corner. Come on, darling, and we'll soon be safe.
Don't make a noise!"
"Goodness, isn't it dark! What a horrid night! Oh, what's that?"
"Gad, I thought I heard something over there in the croquet ground.

Sounded like some one mixing it up with a wicket. Quick! Out this
way!" He had her hand in his, and was rushing ruthlessly through
flower-beds toward the big gate, her travelling bag banging against his
knee with the insistence of a hundredweight.
Panting and gasping for breath, they finally floundered into the
roadway, and dashed off through the muddy surface toward the unseen
automobile.
She was half fainting with the panic of excitement as he started to lift
her into the tonneau of the car. "No, no! Please let me sit with you in
the front seat," she implored. She had her way, and a moment later he
was up beside her, both wrapped in the oil-cloths, the drizzle blowing
in their hot faces.
"We're off, thank God!" he whispered joyously, as the car leaped
forward under his hand.
"I wonder--oh, dear, how I wonder what mamma will say," she was
crying in his ear.
Dauntless grinned happily as the car shot onward through the blackness
of the night. Its lanterns were dark and cold, but he knew the road.
CHAPTER II
THE FLYERS CATCH THE FLYER
No one would have recognised either of them had it been possible to
see them,--so carefully were their heads swathed in their coverings. She
was veiled and he was goggled, and both of them scrooged down in the
seat apprehensively. Hardy's car, borrowed in reality for the occasion,
was performing nobly. It careened through the muddy streets of the
village with a sturdiness that augured well for the enterprise. Out into
the country road, scudding northward, it sped. Dauntless increased the
speed, not to the limit, on account of the fog and uncertainty of the road,
but enough to add new thrills to the girl who crouched beside him.
Neither spoke until they were far from the town line; the strain was too

intense.
"What will everybody say?" she finally cried in his ear--the most
natural question in the world. "And the newspapers? Oh, dear!"
"You're not weakening, are you?" he cried. "Shall I turn back?"
She was silent for half a mile.
"No," she replied at last, "I couldn't climb UP that ladder. And
besides--" with a gasp as the car shot over the railroad tracks,--"we
never could get as good a start as this again."
"Bully for you!" he shouted.
"How far is it to Fenlock, Joe?" she asked, a quaver in her high- pitched
voice.
"About seven miles. We'll take the short cut through O'Brien's Lane
and strike Cobberly Road again at the crossroads. Then it will be easy
going. We'll catch the flyer all right, Nell. Everything's arranged. You
go into Car 5 and I in Car 7--"
"With a whole car between us? Heavens!"
"It's safest, dear. There might happen to be some one on board who'd
know us and suspect. Keep your veil down until you get into the berth.
There's not much danger of any one being up at this time of night, but
don't take any chances."
"Goodness, isn't it thrilling! And when do we get to Omegon?"
"Little after seven in the morning. My cousin will meet us in a hack and
drive us straight to the church. His wife will go with us as the extra
witness. By eight o'clock we'll be married. Derby will be on the train
with us. He's a full-fledged preacher now, and he'll marry us without a
whimper."
"Oh," she sighed deliciously, in spite of the jarring of the motor, "isn't it

nice to have old college chums who can be depended upon?"
"Poor old Windomshire," he laughed in the buoyancy of conquest.
"I don't think he'll---" She stopped.
"What?"
"Care very much," she concluded. He laughed doubtingly.
Mile after mile the car traversed the misty night, jolting over the ruts in
the lane, taking the hills blindly--driven entirely by the hand of Good
Luck.