armella ran down the short path, and Dixon opened the rear door of the sedan. Except that he did not step out of the car and salute, he did exactly as he would have done for Mrs. Barrington, and in downtown traffic congestion, when she was shopping, she herself did not call for these flourishes.
But Carmella ignored the open door, ran around to the other side of the machine and jumped into the front seat beside Dixon.
“You wish to ride in front?” asked the latter.
“You bet I do,” said the girl happily. “I ain’t your boss, you know. I want to talk when I ride. The way we would if you took me out for a buggy ride. Don’t you, Dixon?”
Dixon chuckled at the informal camaraderie coupled with the formality of his last name.
“All right, kid,” he said. “Whatever suits you suits me. You’re Mrs. Barrington’s guest, you know.”
“Sure I am! Don’t I know it? Can’t her guests ride in the front seat if they want to?”
“They have,” said Dixon, chuckling again.
[76]
