Our hair
and faces were already grey with dust, and all sense of appearance had
been forgotten.
I sat between Lola and Nelson, with the little Vinerhorn and the
secretary in front of us, while the Senator was next our chauffeur, whom
they addressed as "Bob"--a friend, not an employe. The rest of the party
squashed into the other motors and so we started, ours leading over a
track, not a road; the sage brush had been removed, that was all, and
there were deep ruts to guide us. We flew along with a brilliant blue
sky overhead, high hills which presently grew mountainous on either
side, and what seemed an endless sea of greenish drab scrub before. Once
or twice we passed tired, weary-looking men plodding on foot, and I did
wish we could have picked them up and helped them along; but there was
not an inch of room. The ruts were so extremely deep that I certainly
should have been pitched out but that Nelson held me tight. Mr.
Vinerhorn frowned so when he held Lola, too, that he was obliged to
leave her alone, and I am sure she must have had a most uncomfortable
journey. I suppose this little Randolph has picked up that selfish
jealous trait in England with his clothes, only thinking of _his_
emotions, not his wife's comfort, quite unlike kind Americans.
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