"They get sentimental over anything at all.

Factories or restaurants, it doesn't matter what!" And both of them were seized with fits of laughter which they managed to cover under the general movement of departure, as Isabel had risen to go.
Outside, upon the crowded street, George helped Lucy into his runabout, and drove off, waving triumphantly, and laughing at Eugene who was struggling with the engine of his car, in the tonneau of which Isabel and Fanny had established themselves.

"Looks like a hand-organ man grinding away for pennies," said George, as the runabout turned the corner and into National Avenue.

"I'll still take a horse, any day." He was not so cocksure, half an hour later, on an open road, when a siren whistle wailed behind him, and before the sound had died away, Eugene's car, coming from behind with what seemed fairly like one long leap, went by the runabout and dwindled almost instantaneously in perspective, with a lace handkerchief in a black-gloved hand fluttering sweet derision as it was swept onward into minuteness--a mere white speck--and then out of sight.
George was undoubtedly impressed.

"Your Father does know how to drive some," the dashing exhibition forced him to admit.