HERO WORSHIP

“Oh, Mollie, please be careful!”

The big car skidded perilously around a sharp curve and chug-chugged merrily down the road.

“Goodness, I’ve been careful so long I’m afraid it will grow on me,” Mollie Billette, sometimes known as “Billy,” retorted, a determined set to her pretty chin.  “Someway, I’ve got to get it out of my system.”

The automobile, a big seven-passenger car, belonged to Mollie, and the four Outdoor Girls, having secured a half-holiday from their work at the Hostess House, were out for recreation.

As may have been gathered, Mollie was driving.  Amy Blackwell, fearful of an accident, was in the seat beside her, while Grace Ford and Betty Nelson, their beloved Little Captain, occupied the tonneau and amused themselves by laughing at Amy’s fears.

“Well, but you needn’t take it out on us,” Amy said in reply to Mollie’s assertion.  “If you’re going to take many more of those two-wheel turns, I’m going to get out and walk.  Oh, Mol-lie!” The speech ended in a wail, as Mollie wickedly rounded another curve, jolting Amy half out of her seat.

“I don’t know but what I agree with Amy,” drawled Grace, from the tonneau, helping herself to a chocolate, upon which Betty’s eye had just rested longingly.  “I’ve been bumped around so much I can’t tell whether I’m a girl or a scrambled egg.  Now, look what you did!” A sudden lurch of the big car had sent the box of chocolates to the floor, where its contents rolled about aggravatingly at their feet.  “Come back here, Mollie Billette, and pick them up.  That’s the least—­”

The rest of the sentence was never uttered, for Mollie brought the car to so sudden a stop that Grace and Betty both lurched forward and narrowly escaped bumping their noses on the back of the seat in front of them.

“Sure,” said the reckless driver, turning her bright black eyes expectantly upon them.  “Will you promise to give me all I pick up?”

“All you—­” Grace was beginning, striving desperately to recover her breath and her dignity at the same time, the accomplishment of which feat was decidedly retarded by growing indignation.  “Goodness, I never heard such a—­”

“Very well,” returned Mollie, and, without deigning to parley further, turned determinedly to the wheel.  “That’s all I wanted to know—­”

“Just a minute, Mollie, dearest,” Betty’s laughing voice broke in.  “You know I’m not worrying about the chocolates at all, but I’m not particularly anxious to spoil my perfectly good shoes with crushed chocolate or, on the other hand, frump my perfectly good nose in a vain attempt to pick them—­”

“Which, candy or shoes?” Mollie broke in impishly.

“Candy,” answered Betty soberly.  “As I was saying, neither of these alternatives appeal to me, so, with your kind permission, I would beg you to hold your horses—­”