“Shower coming up,” said Farnsworth, blithely; “better streak for home.  Wish I’d turned sooner.  But we’ll beat the storm.  Wish the girls had some wraps.  Here, Daisy, take my coat and put it on while you’ve a chance.  It’ll look pretty silly on you, but it will keep your furbelows from getting spoiled.”

“Yes, I will take it, Billy.  I’m awfully chilly.”

As Daisy already had a laprobe, Patty looked at her in astonishment, as she let Farnsworth take off his coat and put it on her.  An ordinary evening coat, it was not a great protection, but Daisy turned up the collar and made herself as comfortable as she could.  Then she tucked the laprobe carefully over her skirts, though as yet no drop of rain had descended.

“No, indeed!” said Patty, as Jack offered her his coat.  “I have the laprobe, you know, and I’ll put it round my shoulders.  Never mind if my skirts are spoilt.  Turn up your collar, Jack, it will pour in a minute now.”

And pour it did!  Suddenly, without a preliminary sprinkle, the floods dropped straight from the heavens.  A drenching, pouring rain that soaked the occupants of the open car before they could realise what had happened.  Gusts of wind added to their discomfort, and then the thunder and lightning, drawn nearer, gave the greatest exhibition of an electrical storm that had been seen all summer.

Patty, who was confessedly afraid of thunder storms, shivered, on the verge of nervous hysterics.  Finally, at a specially ear-splitting bolt and blinding flash, which were almost simultaneous, she gave a little shriek and pulled the wet laprobe over her head.  She crumpled down into a little heap, and, frightened lest she should faint, Pennington put his arm round her and held her in a reassuring clasp.

Daisy Dow was more angry than frightened.  She hadn’t Patty’s fear of the elements, but she greatly objected to the uncomfortable situation in which she found herself.

“Do get home, Bill!” she cried, crossly.  “Can’t you go any faster?”

The big fellow, in his white shirtsleeves, bent to his wheel.  He had worn no hat, and the rain fairly rebounded as it dashed on his thick mat of soaking wet hair.

“Speed her, Bill,” went on Daisy, petulantly; “you could go fast enough in the moonlight,—­why do you slow down now, when we all want to get home?”

No answer from Farnsworth, who was intently looking and listening.

“Why do you, Bill?” reiterated the irritating voice, and Farnsworth’s never very patient temper gave way.

“Shut up, Daisy!” he cried.  “I’m doing the best I can,—­but that’s all the good it does.  We’ve got to stop.  The gasolene is out!”

All of them, accustomed to motors, knew what this meant.  Like a flash, each mind flew back to think who was to blame for this.  And each realised that it was not the fault of the chauffeur at “Red Chimneys” who had let them take out the car.  For, had they not said they were going only for a short spin?  And the car had been amply stocked for about two hours.  Yes, it must be about two hours since they started, for in their merry mood they had had no thought of time, and had gone far, far inland.