“We can’t stop,” shrieked Daisy, “in this storm!  No house or shelter near!  Bill Farnsworth, I’ll never forgive you for bringing me into this pickle!”

Farnsworth gave a short, sharp laugh.

“I can get along without your forgiveness, Daisy, if I can only get you people home safely.  Great Cats, how it rains!  I say, Pennington, what do you think we’d better do?  Where’s Miss Fairfield?”

Looking around suddenly, Bill saw no sign of Patty in the nondescript heap by Jack’s side.  But at his startled question, a wet face and a mass of tangled curls and apple blossoms, equally wet, emerged from the soaking laprobe.

“Here I am!” said a plaintive little voice that tried hard to be brave.  But a sharp flare of lightning sent the golden head suddenly back to its hiding-place.

“Miss Fairfield is awfully afraid of electrical storms,” explained Jack, patting the wet heap anywhere, in a well-meant attempt at reassurance.

“Pooh!” exclaimed Daisy.  “What a ’fraid-cat!  I’m not frightened,—­ but I’m terribly wet.  I’m soaked!  I’m drowned!”

“So are we all, Daisy,” said Bill, shivering as the wind flapped his dripping shirtsleeves; “but what can we do?  The car won’t move.”

“Well, we can move!  Let’s get out and walk.”

“Why, Daisy, what’s the use?  Where could we walk to?”

“Well, I think you two men are horrid!  You just sit there and let Patty and me catch our death of cold.  Though Patty is wrapped up snug and warm in that robe.  If she’s protected you don’t care about me!”

“Daisy! what nonsense—–­” began Bill, but Patty’s head popped out again.

“If you think I’m snug and warm, Daisy Dow, you’re greatly mistaken!  I never was so uncomfortable in all my life!  And I’m scared besides!  That’s more than you are!”

Jack Pennington laughed.  “While the girls are comparing notes of discomfort,” he said, “how about us, Bill?  Do you feel,-er—­well-groomed and all that?”

Farnsworth looked critically at his soaked apparel.  “I’ve been Drier,” he replied, “but you know, Pennington, I’m one of those chaps who look well in any costume!”

The absurdity of this speech brought Patty’s head out again, and she felt a shock of surprise to note that the jesting words were true.  Bill Farnsworth, coatless, dripping wet, and exceedingly uncomfortable, sat upright, tossing back his clustered wet hair, and positively laughing at the situation.

“Pardon my hilarity,” he said, as he caught a glimpse of Patty’s face, “but you’re all so lugubrious, somebody must laugh.”

“All right, I’ll laugh with you!” and Patty sat upright, the dark laprobe held hoodwise, so that she looked like a mischievous nun.  “If you’ll please turn off the thunder and lightning, I won’t mind the rain a bit.  In fact, I’m getting used to it.  I know I was meant for a duck, anyway.”