was quite dark with anger. I couldn't help being amused; he looked
so funny.

"The Sage looks like Bernard Shaw," whispered Mifflin.

I always believe in drawing first blood.

"Good-morning, Andrew," I called cheerfully. "Want to buy any
books?" I halted Pegasus, and Andrew stood a little in front of
the wheel--partly out of breath and mostly out of temper.

"What on earth is this nonsense, Helen?" he said angrily. "You've
led me the deuce of a chase since yesterday. And who is this--this
person you're driving with?"

"Andrew," I said, "you forget your manners. Let me introduce Mr.
Mifflin. I have bought his caravan and am taking a holiday, selling
books. Mr. Mifflin is on his way to Port Vigor where he takes the
train to Brooklyn."

Andrew stared at the Professor without speaking. I could tell by the
blaze in his light-blue eyes that he was thoroughly angry, and I
feared things would be worse before they were better. Andrew is slow
to wrath, but a very hard person to deal with when roused. And I had
some inkling by this time of the Professor's temperament. Moreover,
I am afraid that some of my remarks had rather prejudiced him
against Andrew, as a brother at any rate and apart from his
excellent prose.

Mifflin had the next word. He had taken off his funny little cap,