“That’s all right, then,” said Sam briskly, “Winthrop will go slow.”

So the Scarlet Car shot forward with sometimes the second car so far in the rear that they could only faintly distinguish the horn begging them to wait, and again it would follow so close upon their wheels that they heard the five grizzly bears chanting beseechingly

Oh, bring this wagon home, John,
It will not hold us a-all.

For some time there was silence in the Scarlet Car, and then Winthrop broke it by laughing.

“First, I lose Peabody,” he explained, “then I lose Sam, and now, after I throw Fred overboard, I am going to drive you into Stamford, where they do not ask runaway couples for a license, and marry you.”

The girl smiled comfortably.  In that mood she was not afraid of him.

She lifted her face, and stretched out her arms as though she were drinking in the moonlight.

“It has been such a good day,” she said simply, “and I am really so very happy.”

“I shall be equally frank,” said Winthrop.  “So am I.”

For two hours they had been on the road, and were just entering Fairport.  For some long time the voices of the pursuing grizzlies had been lost in the far distance.

“The road’s up,” said Miss Forbes.

She pointed ahead to two red lanterns.

“It was all right this morning,” exclaimed Winthrop.

The car was pulled down to eight miles an hour, and, trembling and snorting at the indignity, nosed up to the red lanterns.

They showed in a ruddy glow the legs of two men.

“You gotta stop!” commanded a voice.

“Why?” asked Winthrop.

The voice became embodied in the person of a tall man, with a long overcoat and a drooping mustache.

“’Cause I tell you to!” snapped the tall man.

Winthrop threw a quick glance to the rear.  In that direction for a mile the road lay straight away.  He could see its entire length, and it was empty.  In thinking of nothing but Miss Forbes, he had forgotten the chaperon.  He was impressed with the fact that the immediate presence of a chaperon was desirable.  Directly in front of the car, blocking its advance, were two barrels, with a two-inch plank sagging heavily between them.  Beyond that the main street of Fairport lay steeped in slumber and moonlight.

“I am a selectman,” said the one with the lantern.  “You been exceedin’ our speed limit.”

The chauffeur gave a gasp that might have been construed to mean that the charge amazed and shocked him.

“That is not possible,” Winthrop answered.  “I have been going very slow—­on purpose—­to allow a disabled car to keep up with me.”

The selectman looked down the road.

“It ain’t kep’ up with you,” he said pointedly.

“It has until the last few minutes.”

“It’s the last few minutes we’re talking about,” returned the man who had not spoken.  He put his foot on the step of the car.