Blount pushed his driving-cap back, mopped his face, and came around to dive once more into the wiring in the battery box.  Dusk was coming on, and he had to light one of the side-lamps to serve as a lantern.  By changing the wiring he was finally able to evoke a desultory response from the spark-coil, and a little later to start the motor after some limping fashion.

“Oh, my poor dinner!” said Miss Anners, who was still in the light-hearted mood; this after Blount’s careful nursing had resulted in a creeping resumption of the cityward progress.  And then:  “I hope you didn’t have any engagement for this evening?”

“I have but one ambition in life,” he rejoined grimly, “and that is to get you back to the hotel in time for your engagement.  Surely Mrs. Blount will wait for you.”

At the rate they were going the waiting promised to be long.  But after another half-hour had been killed, the headlights of a westward-driven car appeared in the road ahead.  Blount pulled quickly into the ditch and jumped out to flag the oncoming machine; did flag it, and was able to borrow a set of batteries.  With the new equipment the remainder of the drive was accomplished swiftly, but not swiftly enough.  At the Inter-Mountain they found that the senator and Mrs. Honoria had gone to keep their dinner engagement, and a note in the little lady’s copperplate handwriting informed Blount that the invitation had been made to include him, and that he was to hurry and bring Patricia.

Fully alive now to the time-killing purpose of the clever little machinator in arranging to have spent batteries given him, Blount, nevertheless, did his duty like a man, and the pair made a late descent upon the Gordon dinner-table.  Though the dinner was informal, there were other guests besides the senator’s party, and among them the traffic manager.  Blount, sitting next to Patricia, made their tardiness an excuse and devoted himself to her, thus escaping the toils of the general table-talk, which was frankly political.  But at the adjournment to the drawing-room he cornered Gantry.

“I meant to hunt you up this afternoon,” he began, “but I was otherwise spoken for.  What have you done?”

“I’ve cabled a conditional acceptance of the offer I was telling you about.”

“But you haven’t resigned?”

“No.  Mr. McVickar will probably be here within a day or two, and I’ll make it verbal.”

Yielding to the urgings of the younger Gordon, Patricia was going to the piano, and Blount snatched at his opportunity.

“Give me a few minutes in the smoking-room,” he said to the traffic manager, and when the privacy was secured:  “You needn’t resign, Dick.  There isn’t going to be any earthquake—­of the kind you were fearing.”

“You don’t mean that the Honorable Senator has turned you down, Evan?”

“Just that.”

“I’m sorry,” said the friend in need, feeling his way cautiously.  Then he added:  “You needn’t tell me anything more than you want to, you know.”