there's nothing to hold to. That's Tommy Rice's place over there. We'd better get him to take us in for the night."
"But that would be worse than the hotel," Enid objected. "They are not very clean people, and there are a lot of children."
"Better be crowded than dead," he murmured. "From here on, it would be a matter of luck. We might land anywhere."
"We are only about ten miles from your place. I can stay with your mother tonight."
"It's too dangerous, Enid. I don't like the responsibility. Your father would blame me for taking such a chance."
"I know, it's on my account you're nervous." Enid spoke reasonably enough. "Do you mind letting me drive for awhile? There are only three bad hills left, and I think I can slide down them sideways; I've often tried it."
Claude got out and let her slip into his seat, but after she took the wheel he put his hand on her arm. "Don't do anything so foolish," he pleaded.
Enid smiled and shook her head. She was amiable, but inflexible.
He folded his arms. "Go on."
He was chafed by her stubbornness, but he had to admire her resourcefulness in handling the car. At the bottom of one of the worst hills was a new cement culvert, overlaid with liquid mud, where there was nothing for the chains to grip. The car slid to the edge of the culvert and stopped on the very brink. While they were ploughing up the other side of the hill, Enid remarked; "It's a good thing your starter works well; a little jar would have thrown us over."
They pulled up at the Wheeler farm just before dark, and
