"Fill the air with ozone!" Tish scoffed. "Fill Mrs. Ostermaier's skull
with ozone, instead of brains, more likely!"

Tish is a good woman--a sweet woman, indeed; but she has a vein of
gentle irony, which she inherited from her maternal grandfather, who was
on the Supreme Bench of his country. However, that spring she was
inclined to be irritable. She could not drive her car, and that was
where the trouble really started.

Tish had taken up aesthetic dancing in Mareb, wearing no stays and a
middy blouse and short skirt; and during a fairy dance, where she was to
twirl on her right toes, keeping the three other limbs horizontal, she
twisted her right lower limb severely. Though not incapacitated, she
could not use it properly; and, failing one day to put on the brake
quickly, she drove into an open-front butter-and-egg shop.

[This was the time one of the newspapers headed the article: "Even the
Eggs Scrambled."]

When Tish decided to have a chauffeur for a time she advertised. There
were plenty of replies, but all of the applicants smoked cigarettes--a
habit Tish very properly deplores. The idea of securing a young woman
was, I must confess, mine.

"Plenty of young women drive cars," I said, "and drive well. And, at
least, they don't light a cigarette every time one stops to let a train
go by."

"Huh!" Tish commented. "And have a raft of men about all the time!"

Nevertheless, she acted on the suggestion, advertising for a young woman
who could drive a car and had no followers. Hutchins answered.

She was very pretty and not over twenty; but, asked about men, her face
underwent a change, almost a hardening. "You'll not be bothered with
men," she said briefly. "I detest them!"

And this seemed to be the truth. Charlie Sands, for instance, for whose
benefit this is being written, absolutely failed to make any impression
on her. She met his overtures with cold disdain. She was also adamant
to the men at the garage, succeeding in having the gasoline filtered
through a chamois skin to take out the water, where Tish had for years
begged for the same thing without success.

Though a dashing driver, Hutchins was careful. She sat on the small of
her back and hurled us past the traffic policemen with a smile.

[Her name was really Hutchinson; but it took so long to say it at the
rate she ran the car that Tish changed it to Hutchins.]

Really the whole experiment seemed to be an undoubted success, when
Aggie got the n