“Unless what?” queried Amy breathlessly.

“Oh, I don’t know whether you’d call it an idea or just plain foolishness,” answered Betty, striving to speak carelessly.  “I was just thinking that we might persuade her to stay longer on the plea that we wanted to bring the motorcyclist to justice and needed her identification.”

Amy looked a little disappointed.

“Well, I don’t know,” she said doubtfully.  “She said the other day that she didn’t care much about bringing the fellow to justice.  She said one motorcyclist was as bad as another, and the only thing that would give her satisfaction would be ‘to arrest the whole tribe o’ them.’”

Betty laughed a little at the characteristic remark, but her eyes were troubled.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “I suppose you’re right.  She is rather hard to reason with at times.  If only I could think of something.”

The sharp toot of a horn as Mollie grazed the curb with the huge touring car put an end to the conversation for the time being.  Grace was already on the porch, and as they raced down the steps the girls’ spirits rose happily.

After all, it was a perfect summer day, the sun shone brilliantly down upon them, the wind caressed their faces, and, above all, they were young.

It was not till they were several miles out upon the shining road that Betty once more thought of Mrs. Sanderson.

“We might,” she said thoughtfully, as though speaking to herself, “tell her that we were trying to find her son.  That might have some effect upon her.”

“Upon whom?” asked Mollie, nearly running the car into a tree by the roadside in an effort to get a glimpse of Betty.

“Oh, Mollie, do be careful,” cried Amy plaintively.  “I never come out with you but what I expect to be killed.”

“I should think you’d be tired expecting by this time,” returned Mollie practically.  “Now will you please repeat that somewhat meaningless jumble of words, Betty dear?  What was it—­something about somebody’s son having a good effect upon somebody—­”

“Well, I hope you feel better, now that you’ve gotten it out of your system,” drawled Grace.  “Now, Betty, go on.  I’ll keep her quiet with chocolates till you’ve had your say.”

“Go on talking all night, will you, Betty dear?” entreated Mollie, speaking thickly because of a mouthful of chocolate.  “Home was never—­” But here Grace inserted another bonbon so deftly that Mollie choked and almost precipitated another appalling accident.

“For goodness sakes, hurry, Betty!” cried Amy, in dismay.  “If you don’t, there won’t be anything of us left to listen to you.”

“Well,” said Betty obediently, for she had been so busy with her own thoughts that half the persiflage and gay bantering had passed above her head, “I was speaking of Mrs. Sanderson and her son.  I thought that if we told her we were trying to find her Willie, she might consent to stay on with us a little longer.”