Sinclair Lewis

“ She drove on at sixty miles an hour. She had gone a good mile before she got control of her fear and halted. She saw Milt turn his little car as though it were a prancing bronco. It seemed to paw the air with its front wheels. He shot back, pursuing the late guest. The man ran bobbing along the road. At this distance he was no longer formidable, but a comic, jerking, rabbity figure, humping himself over the back track.
⁠As the bug whirled down on him, the tough was to be seen throwing up his hands, leaping from the high bank. ”

“ Pretty please!" besought Claire. Her smile was appealing, her eyes on his.
⁠Milt bit his knuckles. He looked weak. But he persisted, "No, you'll get over this scrap with our friend. By the way, I'll put the deputy onto him, in the next town. He'll never get out of the county. When you forget him- Oh no, you can go on fine. You're a good steady driver, and the road's perfectly safe - if you give people the once-over before you pick 'em up. Picking up badmen is no more dangerous here than it would be in New York. Fact, there's a lot more hold-ups in any city than in the wildest country. ”

“ Mr. Boltwood ardently begged the young man recently so abysmally unimportant, "perhaps you would consent to being my guest, when you cared to - say at hotels in the Park."
⁠"'Fraid I couldn't. I'm kind of a lone wolf." ”