[Mailmanager-developers] noise quick!"

[Rymasz <st...@fu...>]

Ell you what it is," she said, trying to control both nerves and temper,
for she was both frightened and angry. "Have you?" "I think so," replied
Pachuca, a little stiffly. "But, please, dear lady, do not get down in
the dirt! I beg of you!" "I don't mind. I know every little pain an
engine can have. I drove an emergency car at home during the war," said
Polly, curtly. "Indeed?" Juan Pachuca's voice was cool. The young lady
was business-like--too business-like to flirt with--and yet---- "No,
it's not that." Polly shook the curls out of her eyes and slammed the
cover of the radiator. "Where do you think it is? You ought to know
something about this car; you've been driving it." Pachuca's eyes
danced. What was the use of being stiff with an American? They were all
alike--the men after money, and the women after what they called
independence! "I think," he said, demurely, "that it must be attacked
from underneath, if you will hold the torch." "All right." Polly smiled.
"Go ahead. If you can't find it, I'll try." Thus it was that Marc
Scott's first acquaintance with Polly Street came as he pulled the
excited team to its haunches within a few feet of the automobile, and
she, holding Juan Pachuca's torch, jumped to her feet and faced him.
"Oh!" she cried, eagerly, "is that you, Bob?" Then, seeing more clearly,
"I beg your pardon! We've had trouble with the car, but we've fixed it
and we'll be out of the way in a moment." "I'm not Bob Street, but I'm
from Athens, and I'm looking for Bob's sister. I guess you must be her,"
replied Scott. "Well, who are you?" he added, as Juan Pachuca's legs
emerged from the car, followed by his body. "It's not Mendoza--he's
sick," volunteered Polly. "It's a gentleman who was in the train and who
kindly drove me over. Where is my brother?" "Your letter only came
to-night," stammered Scott, "and in the same mail w