alm, who'll be only too happy
to take you."

"What, and desert Mr. Automobile-Micawber?" I cut in. "Never! We're none
of us _infirm old women_, are we, Mamma, that we should mind roughing
it, for once?"

"No-o," said Mamma. "It--I dare say it will be fun. And anyhow, we can
have them make a fire here, so it will be less like picnicking in one's
own grave."

The very thought of a fire was cheering, and we trooped off to the
_salle a manger_, where it was understood that the Prince had gone to
order coffee. Mr. Barrymore wouldn't stay, for he was anxious to get
back to the motor, which he had left at a machinist's, and deserted only
long enough to come and give us news. The "shop" was to keep open all
night, and he would work there, making a new cone. Joseph, it seemed,
was to work all night in another shop, and both automobiles were to be
ready in the morning.

"But you will be horribly tired, driving through the day and working
through the night," said Maida. "I for one would rather stop here
to-morrow."

"It's nothing, thanks. I shall rather like it," replied the
Chauffeulier. "Please don't worry about me." Then he gave us a smile
and was off.

The coffee was so good that our spirits rose. We decided to unpack what
we needed, and then, by way of passing the time before dinner, take a
walk.

Strange to say, the Prince did not complain of his quarters, but, after
we had for the second time refused his offer of an escort to
Alessandria, became somewhat taciturn. We left him in the _salle a
manger_, Mamma heading the procession of three which trailed to our
room. Maida and I lingered behind for a moment, to play with our first
Italian cat, until a wild cry of "Fire!" from Mamma took us after her
with a rush. A cloud of wood smoke beat us back, but Maida pushed
bravely in, got a window open again, and, after all, there was nothing
more exciting than a smoky chimney.

Sir Ralph, hearing the clamour, flew to the rescue, poured water from
the pitcher into the ricketty three-legged stove, upset a good deal on
himself and on the cemented floor (which looked like a slab of frozen
sausage), and finally succeeded in putting out the fire, though not
until both beds were covered with blacks.

By this time the Ten of Clubs, the Nine, the Eight, and all the little
cards of the pack were dancing about us in a state bordering on frenzy,
but Maida and Sir Ralph together eventually evolved a kind of unlovely
order out of chao