The Marietta journal. (Marietta, Ga.) 1918-1944, 1920-10-01
A Man, a Maid
and a Motor
By FREDERICK HART

continue on its way at 10: 80 at night,
on lonely road eight miles-if the
blue book is to be believed-from no.
where, there is not much one can do
about it except curse the garage at
which the last Overhauling was done
and do ones hest to repair the ma
chine. But when one Is only twenty,
with no particular knowledge of the
intricacies with which manufacturers
fill the hoods of the motor cars they
put out, the task of repairing may well
be given up as hopeless. So thought
Phyllis Deane as she sat disconsolate-
ly in the seat of her little roadster and
wondered just what she was going to
do about it ALL She had treasured
herself that there was plenty of gaso-
line in the tank, so the trouble, what
ever it was, involved more than mere
ref1lling. Even If / could refill it,"
mourned Phyllis to herself, Il just
know I'm out here miles from a ga
rage"
But the prospect of night spent on
a lonely road in a broken down car,
with no prospect of help even when
morning came, is enough to make the
stoutest heart quail, so we must not
blame Phyllis if she found herself chok-
ing back something that was suspi-
ciously like sob. Then she left the
seat, lifted the hood and took another
despairing look into the tangled and
terrifying conglomeration of wires and
pipes that confronted her gaze.
"Oh, why didn't take that course
in the motor school while / had the
chance!' walled she. "Or why did.
ever leave Aunt Mary's to drive home
alone when l might have known this
old bus would break down? Oh, I'm
the unluckiest girl in the world
what's that?"
That was nothing very terrifying,
but to the overweight girl it seemed
fraught with approaching doom. 1t
was clear, masculine, whistle pro-
ceeding out of the blackness of the
road behind the car. Ahead the front
lights cut path Of radiance that made
the road in the rear seem dOubly dark
in comparison. 1t might be tramp,
thought Phyllis, or a kidnaper or
murderer, or almost any one who
would be undesirable to meet at night
on a dark road without an introduc
ton. Instantly she made up her mind
She would not stay to be murdered.
She would hide and see who the in
truder was.
Suiting the action to the thought she
slipped around the rear of the car and
concealed herself behind a friendly
bush, where she could see without be-
ing seen. The whistler approached.
She heard his footsteps come down
the hard-packed road at a brisk gait.
Another moment and he stood beside
the car. The whistle ceased
Here's luck! she heard him say.
Then in a louder tone: "Oh, whoever
owns this car! Will you give me a
lift down the road?"
Silence rewarded him. He called
again, with no better result. Then he
walked to the front of the car. His
glance took in the open hood and he
gave a long, low whistle.
$50 that's it! he said aloud, though
to himself. "a breakdown, and they've
left the car and gone on. Well, well, l
wonder whose car it is. wonder"
still wondering, apparently, he stopped
over the hood. Phyllis heard him
fumbling about, then he emerged and
went on hunt for the tool box. APP
parently his search was rewarded, for
he returned to the engine and she
heard the muffled clink of steel on
steel. He Strengthened with a salts:
fed air and walked to the seat of the
car, but this time his path took him
through the beam of the twin head
lights and for the first time Phyllis
saw him distinctly.
She saw, not the tattered rogue her
Imagination had conjured up, but a
tall, light-haired youth of apparently
about twenty-five, with clean-cut face
and eyes that, though they blinked in
the white glow, were blue and jolly.
He was dressed in a tweed coat, loose
iy and comfortably fitting, with knick-
er-bockers of the same material. A
cap and golf stockings and heavy
shoes completed his sartorial equip
ment. But Phyllis, after the first swift
glance, found herself looking again at
his eyes. She had about decided that
they were nice eyes when he stepped
out of the light and was Immediately
swallowed up like a disappearance in
the moving pictures.
She heard him climb into the seat
and press the button OF the self-start-
er. There was grinding and then
the motor burst into its eight-cylin-
dered song. He throttled it down to
idling speed and she saw the flare of
match as he lighted cigarette. Then
he took hold of the steering wheel
with one hand and reached forward
with the other. Phyllis knew what
that meant and as the gears slipped
into first speed and the car moved