Still, they did not seem to be going so very fast, except that they overhauled and passed everything else on the road, and not once did a car overhaul and pass them.

Cliff glanced often into the mirror, watching the road behind them for the single speeding light of a motor cop--because Los Angeles County, as you are probably aware, does not favor thirty-five miles an hour for automobiles, but has fixed upon twenty-five as a safe and sane speed at which the general public may travel.
But Cliff was wary, chance favored them with fairly clear roads, and the miles slid swiftly behind.

They ate at San Juan Capistrano not much past the hour which Johnny had all his life thought of as supper time.

Cliff filled the gas tank, gave the motor a pint of oil and the radiator about a quart of water, turned up a few grease cups and applied the nose of the oil can here and there to certain bearings.

He did it all with the fastidious air of a prince democratically inclined to look after things himself, the air which permeated his whole personality and made Johnny continue calling him Mr.Lowell, in spite of a life-long habit of applying nicknames even to chance acquaintances.
Cliff climbed in and settled himself.