So they "jumped aboard" and drove down the street. Nan gurgled with
amusement over the episode. She sat on the high seat beside John McGlynn's
lank figure, above the broad backs of the great horses; and Keith in his
shirtsleeves, his hair every which way, a smudge of black across his nose,
balanced in the flat dray body behind. Nan tried to imagine the sensation
they would create in Baltimore, and laughed aloud.

"Is sort of funny," commented John McGlynn sympathetically. "But everything
goes out here."

Nan, aghast at the uncanny perspicacity of the man, choked silently. In her
world there had always been a sort of vague, unexpressed feeling that the
"lower classes" were dull.

They used the horse and buggy a great deal. It was delivered at the hotel
door every morning and taken from the same place every evening. Innumerable
errands downtown for things forgotten kept it busy. At night they returned
to the hotel pretty well tired out. It was a tremendous task, much as they
might be enjoying it.

"Seems to me the more we do the worse it gets," said Keith. "Let's dig some
sort of a hole and move in anyway."

"In a few days," agreed Nan, who as general-in-chief had a much clearer
idea of the actual state of affairs than the dusty private.