And, aloud again, "Oh, this is----"

"Yump. It sure is," Milt agreed.

They had turned from a side-road into a side-side-road. They crossed an

upland valley. The fall rains had flooded a creek till it had cut across

the road, washed through the thin gravel, left across the road a shallow

violent stream. Milt stopped abruptly at its margin.

"Here's where we turn back, I guess," he sighed.

"Oh no! Can't we get across? It's only a couple of feet deep, and gravel

bottom," insisted the restored adventurer.

"Yes, but look at the steep bank. Never get up it."

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"I don't care. Let's try it! We can woggle around and dig it out

somehow. I bet you two-bits we can," said the delicate young woman whom

Mrs. Gilson was protecting.

"All right. In she goes!"

The bug went in--shot over the bank, dipped down till the little hood

sloped below them as though they were looping the loop, struck the

rushing water with a splash which hurled yellow drops over Claire's rose

jersey suit, lumbered ahead, struck the farther bank, pawed at it

feebly, rose two inches, slipped back, and sat there with the gurgling

water all around it, turned into a motor-boat.

"No can do," grunted Milt. "Scared?"

"Nope. Love it! This is a real camp--the brush on the bank, and the

stream--listen to it chuckle under the running-board."

"Do you like to camp with me?"

"Love it."

"Say! Gee! Never thought---- Claire! Got your transportation back East?"

"My ticket? Yes. Why?"

"Well, I'm sure you can turn it in and get a refund. So that's all

right."

"Are you going to let me in on the secret?"

"Oh yes, might's well. I was just wondering---- I don't think much of

wasting all our youth waiting---- Two-three years in engineering school,

and maybe going to war, and starting in on an engineering job, and me

lonely as a turkey in a chicken yard, and you doing the faithful young

lady in Brooklyn---- I think perhaps we might get married tomorrow

and----"

"Good heavens, what do you----?"

"Do you want to go back to Brooklyn Gilsonses?"

"No, but----"

"Dear, can't we be crazy once, while we're youngsters?"

"Don't bombard me so! Let me think. One must be practical, even in

craziness."

"I am. I have over a thousand dollars from the garage, and I can work

evenings--as dear Jeff suggested! We'd have a two-by-four flat----

Claire----"

"Oh, let me think. I suppose I could go to the university, too, and

learn a little about food and babies and building houses and government.

I need to go to school a lot more than you do. Besides auction and the

piano--which I play very badly--and clothes and how to get hold of

tickets for successful plays, I don't know one single thing."