them forever unfit for travel in Nick’s one-lung vehicle of locomotion.

It wasn’t money. Though he was generous enough with what he had, Nick couldn’t be generous with what he hadn’t. And his wage at the garage was $40 a week. Miss Ahearn’s silk stockings cost $4.50.

His unconcern should have infuriated them, but it served to pique. He wasn’t actually as unconcerned as he appeared, but he had early learned that effort in their direction was unnecessary. Nick had little imagination; a gorgeous selfishness; a tolerantly contemptuous liking for the sex. Naturally, however, his attitude toward them had been somewhat embittered by being obliged to watch their method of driving a car in and out of the Ideal Garage doorway. His own manipulation of the wheel was nothing short of wizardry.