“A young lady in black, in a blue auto, sir, bought the bag you must have seen in the window,” he was presently informed by the youth who had served Angela.  “A young lady with golden hair.  You might almost have met her on the way.”

“I rather think I did meet her,” drawled Nick.  And though the bag was gone forever, he was suddenly so happy that he could have sung for joy.  He hurried away to telegraph Henry Morehouse, at Doctor Beal’s Nursing Home, asking a favour which he was sure Morehouse would grant, because they had grown very friendly on the journey East.  Next, he called at the largest garage in Los Angeles, and asked advice of the manager about buying a motor-car.  “You wrote me in the winter, saying you had a fine one here to dispose of,” he said.  “Maybe you remember?”

Remember?  Why, of course, the manager remembered Mr. Hilliard!  Every one had been talking of his Lucky Star gusher.

Nick laughed.  “A right smart lot of letters wanting me to buy things came along about that time.  I hadn’t got any use for an auto then.  Now I have.  And I want a good one, for touring.  The best there is.”

“Any make you fancy?”

“I don’t know much more about motors than elephants,” Nick confessed.  “No use pretendin’ to be an expert, but I’m going to learn the whole game from A to Z.”

“I’ve got a machine here now,” said the man of the garage, “that might suit you if you want something first-rate.  Belongs to a millionaire who went broke before he’d had his auto a week.  Best American on the market, and better than new.  She’s found herself.  Come and have a look at her.”  Nick went.  “She” was a beauty, inside and out a pale primrose yellow.

“Almost the colour of her hair,” he thought.

“I must have a shuvver to overhaul the machine, until I’ve been put wise,” he said, when, after some discussion, he had agreed to buy the yellow car if it were satisfactory.  “But I want to learn to drive right away.  I’d sure be on pins and needles, sittin’ like a duke, in behind, with somebody else at the helm.  How long will it take me?  I’m pretty quick at pickin’ up new things.”

“Can you drive a horse?” the man inquired.

Nick laughed.  “I can worry along some.”

Few men in California knew more about horses than he.

“Well, then, you’ll get the trick of steering sooner.  Six or seven lessons might do you.”

“Lessons of an hour or two?”

“Well, yes.  That’s about it.”

“Suppose I pay extra, and practise extra?  If I keep at it all day and every day, will I be warranted safe and kind after, say, four lessons?  I can have several men to teach me maybe, if I tire one out.”

“But you’re only one man.  Keeping at it like that you’d feel a strain.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Nick.  “I’d have a doze or two and a sandwich or two in between spins.  No harder work than a round-up.”