But it is delightful to go through cities and out-of-the-way places, just leaving cards in a most casual manner upon people one knows.  We passed through many places twice, some places three times, in careering about.  Each time we called on friends; sometimes they were in, sometimes out; it was all so casual,—­a cup of tea, a little chat, sometimes without shutting down the motor,—­the briefest of calls, all the more charming because brief,—­really, it was strange.

We see a town ahead; calling to a man by the roadside,—­

“What place is that?”

“L—­” is the long drawn shout as we go flying by.

“Why, the S___s live there.  I have not seen her since we were at
school.  I would like to stop.”

“Well, just for a moment.”

In a trice the machine is at the door; Mrs. S___ is out--will
return in a moment; so sorry, cannot wait, leave cards; call again
some other day; and we turn ten or fifteen or twenty miles to one
side to see another old school-friend for five or ten minutes
—­just long enough for the chauffeur to oil-up while the
school-mates chat.

The automobile annihilates time; it dispenses with watch and clock; it vaguely notes the coming up and the going down of the sun; but it goes right on by sunlight, by moonlight, by lamplight, by no light at all, until it is brought to a stand-still or capriciously stops of its own accord.

CHAPTER EIGHT THE MORGAN MYSTERY THE OLD STONE BLACKSMITH SHOP AT STAFFORD

It was Wednesday, August 22, that we left Buffalo.  In some stray notes made by my companion, I find this enthusiastic description of the start.

“Toof! toof! on it comes like a gigantic bird, its red breast throbbing, its black wings quivering; it swerves to the right, to the left, and with a quick sweep circles about and stands panting at the curb impatient to be off.

“I hastily mount and make ready for the long flight.  The chauffeur grasps the iron reins, something is pulled, and something is pressed,—­’Chic—­chic—­whirr—­whirr—­r—­r,’ we are off.  Through the rich foliage of noble trees we catch last glimpses of beautiful homes gay with flags, with masses of flowers and broad, green lawns.

“In a moment we are in the crowded streets where cars, omnibuses, cabs, carriages, trucks, and wagons of every description are hurrying pell-mell in every direction.  The automobile glides like a thing of life in and out, snorting with vexation if blocked for an instant.

“Soon we are out of the hurly-burly; the homes melt away into the country; the road lengthens; we pass the old toll-gate and are fairly on our way; farewell city of jewelled towers and gay festivities.

“The day is bright, the air is sweet, and myriads of yellow butterflies flutter about us, so thickly covering the ground in places as to look like beds of yellow flowers.

“Corn-fields and pastures stretch along the roadsides; big red barns and cosey white houses seem to go skurrying by, calling, ’I spy,’ then vanishing in a sort of cinematographic fashion as the automobile rushes on.”