In short, what had looked like black disaster had turned into what Barry was mellowed enough by the ride to call a "lark," and he was spirited enough by the experience to reply to Pete Williams' sarcastic, "So you made it," with round-syllabled innocence.

"Certainly. You said get a horse, so we did."

Lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that, instead of the catcalls of derision he expected from his schoolmates, he found there was grudging admiration in their whoops of greeting, he didn't even notice that the cloud of calamity he'd been struggling under all evening was still with him. Hopping happily around the floor with Hank in his arms, he failed to notice that the wolf pack was closing in, with Pete Williams well in the lead.

With the ominous sound of the word "cut" in his ear, Barry relinquished Hank to Pete with a sigh and retired to the stag line to sweat out the shortest possible decent interval until he could cut back. When he did, the beauty of the night faded and he saw right away that snafu had set in again. Pete immediately informed him.

"Look, Barry. I'm calling my brother to bring my car over here so I can take Hank home. It'll take centuries in that contraption you brought her in. "It's a favor I'm doing you."

"Yeah," Barry said, watching Hank's face and trying to keep his heart from making a crash landing. Because Hank had that dewy-eyed look she always got about Pete's car.

Obviously, her loyalty to Barry as her date had been paid in full by the buggy ride and there was nothing more he could expect. Somehow he got through the fog of despair that was the rest of the evening an managed to say goodnight to both Hank and Pete with a cordiality that spoke highly for his histrionic abilities.

Morosely, bent almost double in the single seat of the buggy, Barry stared into the darkness ahead, listening partly to the creaking of the ancient wheels and parlty to his own voice as he talked to the horse.

"We were so happy, too Dobbin. That's what hurts. Why, I gave her the best months of my life, building the dreamboat. And just because one little thing goes wrong, once, and the thing won't go, she goes off into the night with Pete. Never put your faith in a woman, Dobbin, they'll sell their souls for a mess of raccoon tails every time."

Home, he unhitched Dobbin, whose name was probably Charlie, stabled him in the garage, and sadly went to bed.

His mother was basting the Sunday roast when Barry slid downstairs at eleven the next morning.

"Hi," she said. "Have fun?"

Barry poured cereal in a bowl and mumbled, "Went home with Pete. Got his brother to bring the car for them."

"Who? You? Hank?" his mother asked in short, exasperated syllables. And added, "Barry, for heaven's sake, make sense!"

"Hank, of course," he said miserably.

His mother grieved for only a moment. Then she said, "Possibly I don't realize good, but isn't what I see in the vicinity of our garage a buggy? Am I allowed to ask how this acquisition on your part came about? Am I permitted to know what became of that large and beloved creation of yours, namely, the dreamboat you left in last night?"

Barry ran fingers through his tumbled hair. In his voice there was a vast weariness. "Stalled," he explained. "Minturn rented us a horse and buggy. That's how we got to the dance. But Pete said it would take too long to drive Hank home in it, so he look her. In his bee-yoo-ti-ful car."

"So." his mother nodded. "You now have the small matter of a horse to return and a car to tow. Do you know how much tow trucks cost, Barry?"

"Yeah," he nodded, munching. "I'll pay you back."

"You never have yet," his mother said mildly.

Barry's head lifted suddenly like a dog's with a fresh scent. A dull roar in the distance that had in it intermittent sputters rang like a clarion in his ears.

"Ho-lee," he said, pushing his chair back so suddenly that it fell over. "Sounds like something."

"It does indeed," his mother agreed and went with him to look out the front window.

Coming up the road, under its own questionable power, was the dreamboat, with Hank at the wheel. Grinning and waving to them, she drove into the Whitney driveway and stopped three feet behind the buggy.

Barry dove out the door to meet her and "Hey" was all he could say.

"Since I am the first woman to cross the plains of Westchester in a 1924 Buick, no doubt you want to know how I did it," Hank said blithely, jumping down from the car.

"Sure," Barry said. "But you didn't fix it yourself. If you did I'll break your head. Because then you could have fixed it last night."

"In my new evening dress?" she inquired. "No, of course I didn't fix it. It was Dad. You see, he knows all about cars and I knew he could fix it. That's why I rode home with Pete last night. So I could get Dad to take me out and fix it this morning early. And then I could drive it over to you, see?"

Barry did see. But for once he was embarrassed. "But, dimwit; you don't have to go around picking up my pieces."

"I know it, goon," she said. "The thing was I couldn't wait to ride in the dreamboat again."

Her eyes traveled lovingly from stem to stern of the big, homemade car and Barry's breath caught when he saw the starry look in her eyes. "How's about we take a ride in her?" he asked huskily.

But Mrs. Whitney had come out of the house and she heard him. "Hello, Hank," she said casually. "Barry, you take that horse and buggy back before you set foot off this property."

"Who doesn't make sense?" Barry howled ecstatically before he climbed in the buggy and directed Hank to the driver's seat of the car. "Follow me," he shouted as he led the way, seated proudly in the buggy, at about five miles an hour, down the road.