Peter was like the celebrated Tam O' Shanter. He was pursued by
spectres. The instant that he discovered that he was lagging a trifle,
he shot the car up to top speed, with the result that he had to jam on
the brakes violently in order to avoid crashing into Tommy's tail
light, and at such times Miss Cameron and Barnes sustained unpleasant
jars. Something seemed to be telling Peter that the law was stretching
out its cruel hand to clutch him from behind; he was determined to
keep out of its reach.
There was small opportunity for conversation. The trip was not at all
as Barnes had imagined it would be. After the car had raced through
Hornville he decided that it was not necessary to keep Tommy's tail
light in view, and so directed Peter. After that conversation was
possible, but the gain was counterbalanced by a distinct sense of
loss. She relinquished her rather frenzied grasp upon his arm, and
sank back into the corner of the seat.
"Oh, dear, what a relief!" she gasped.
"What arrant stupidity," he growled, and she never knew that the
remark bore no relation whatsoever to Peter.
He confessed his fears to her, and was immeasurably consoled by her
enthusiastic scorn for the consequences of his mistake.
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