Julius took her by both arms, and looked at her. She had spoken with no trace of foreign accent.
“Sit down, kid,” he said gently. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with your memory. Been fooling them all the time, eh?”
The girl looked at him, nodded, and then suddenly burst into tears. Julius patted her on the shoulder.
“There, there—just you sit tight. We’re not going to let you quit.”
Through her sobs the girl said indistinctly:
“You’re from home. I can tell by your voice. It makes me homesick.”
“Sure I’m from home. I’m your cousin—Julius Hersheimmer. I came over to Europe on purpose to find you—and a pretty dance you’ve led me.”
The car slackened speed. George spoke over his shoulder:
“Crossroads here, sir. I’m not sure of the way.”
The car slowed down till it hardly moved. As it did so a figure climbed suddenly over the back, and plunged head first into the midst of them.
“Sorry,” said Tommy, extricating himself.
A mass of confused exclamations greeted him. He replied to them severally:
“Was in the bushes by the drive. Hung on behind. Couldn’t let you know before at the pace you were going. It was all I could do to hang on. Now then, you girls, get out!”
“Get out?”