Breakfast was a mere
pretence at a meal; excitement got the better of appetites that morning.
Beside the winged machines sputtering and coughing as if impatient at
the delay, was a large and comfortable red touring car. At the driver's
wheel of this vehicle was seated a small, "under-done"-looking man, in a
chauffeur's uniform of black leather. This was Jake Rickets.
"Well, Jake, we're all ready for a start," announced Roy, at last.
The small man, whose hair was fair, not to say pale, glanced at the
glowing boy with an expression of deep melancholy.
"Yes, if something don't happen," he declared, in tones of deep
pessimism.
"Jake's never happy unless he's foreboding some disaster," explained
Roy to Bess, who happened to be standing by drawing on her gloves.
"It don't never do to be too sure," murmured the melancholy Jake,
"'cos why? Well, you can't most generally always tell."
"Everything ready?" cried Peggy at last, as Miss Prescott got into
the car.
"As ready as it ever will be," merrily called back Bess, who was already
seated in the little green _Dart_.
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