Almost unconsciously she began to chant: "All in the golden weather, forth let us ride today, You and I together on the King's Highway, The blue skies above us, and below the shining sea; There's many a road to travel, but it's this road for me." You must have ridden this road with an understanding heart and the arm of God around you to know the exact degree of disappointment that swelled in Linda's heart when she answered the telephone early Saturday morning and heard Donald Whiting's strained voice speaking into it.

He was talking breathlessly in eager, boyish fashion.
"Linda, I am in a garage halfway downtown," he was saying, "and it looks to me as if to save my soul I couldn't reach you before noon.

I have had the darnedest luck.

Our Jap got sick last week and he sent a new man to take his place.

There wasn't a thing the matter with our car when I drove it in Friday night.