with a cute little mustache and baby blue
eyes.

All of which don't help me dope out how long I'm due to lend a human
note to an otherwise empty landscape. And there's more excitin' outdoor
sports than sittin' on a rock waitin' to be rescued by someone who
hasn't even seen a snapshot of you. I'll tell the world that. During the
first twenty minutes I answered two false alarms. One was a gasoline
truck going the wrong way and the other turns out to be an R. F. D.
flivver with a baby's go-cart tied on the side. It was good and hot on
the perch I'd picked out and I could feel the sun doing things to the
back of my neck and ears, but I didn't dare climb down for fear I'd be
missed.

Where was this musical gent and his tourin' car? Or would it be a
limousine? Somehow from the way Vee had talked, sayin' he was bugs on
motorin', I sort of favored the limousine proposition. Uh-huh. Most
likely one lined with cretonne, and a French chauffeur at the wheel. But
nothing like that was rollin' past Dorr's Crossing. Not while I was
watchin'.

The rock wasn't gettin' a bit softer, either. Once a bluejay balanced
himself on a nearby bush and after lookin' me over curious screeched
himself hoarse tryin' to say what he thought of a city guy who didn't
know enough to get in the shade. It got to be noon. Still no Barry
Crane. I was just wonderin' when that trolley car was due for a return
trip and was workin' up a few cuttin' remarks to hand Vee when I got her
on the long distance, when I hears something approachin' from down the
road. First off I thought it might be one of these hay mowers runnin'
wild, but pretty soon out of a cloud of dust jumps a little roadster. It
sure was humpin' itself and makin' as much noise about it as a Third
Avenue surface car with two flat wheels. Didn't look very promisin' but
I got up and stretched my neck until I saw there was two people in it.
Next thing I knew though one of 'em, a young lady, is motionin' to me,
and with a squeal of brake bands the little car pulls up opposite the
rock. And sure enough the young gent drivin' has a sketchy mustache and
baby blue eyes.

"What ho!" he sings out cheerful. "Torchy, isn't it? Sorry if we've kept
you waiting, but Adelbaran wasn't performing quite as well as usual this
morning. Stow your bag on the fender and climb in."

"In where?" says I, glancin' at the single seat.

"Oh, really there's plenty of room for three," says the young lady. "And
for fear Barr