Page:Dave Porter at Oak Hall.djvu/51



must be confessed that Dave thought a good deal about the proposed dinner at the Wadsworth mansion. He had dined out but a few times in his life, and never at such an elegant home as he knew this to be. He spent considerable time in brushing up his best shoes and his best hat, and in mending the suit he was to wear.

"We'll cut a sorry figure, I am afraid," sighed Caspar Potts, as he surveyed his rusty black frock coat, a relic of other days.

"Never mind, Mr. Wadsworth wanted us, and we'll go as best we can," said Dave, cheerily.

At the appointed time the Wadsworth carriage drove over to the farm and Caspar Potts and Dave got in. The driver was John, the man who had been working on the automobile at the time of the accident. He grinned broadly at the youth.

"How is the automobile?" asked Dave, as they sped along the road.

"Still at the shop," was the reply. "And it may stay there, too, for the present, for nobody wants to ride in it yet for fear of being blown up." Rh