"Goes easy, doesn't it?" observed Mr. Gilman, analyzing his sensations.
"Gasoline does the pulling," smiled George.
"Why, I don't notice the smell of gasoline at all," recalled the banker.
This was the day when the standard joke was about the automobile and the standard joke about the automobile was the joke about the smell.
"Pooh! There isn't any smell," asserted George, opening the throttle a bit wider. "If there is, the other fellow gets it."
They were spinning out the avenue eastward now, with the gleam of the river every now and then before their eyes and with the fresh, tangy ozone of early autumn sharp in their nostrils.
"How fast are we going?" inquired Mr. Gilman.
"Faster than your carriage horses would be going if they were running away," declared George.
"Trying to sell me one of these things, aren't you?"
"Trying to sell you my faith in our ability to sell eleven hundred of these cars this year and five thousand next," amended George with a contrasting soberness that was instantly effective.
"Well," retorted the banker, "I admit the fas-
