I'm running this." Foster seemed distinctly out of humor.

He told Mert again to shut up, and Mert did so grumblingly, but somewhat diverted and consoled, Bud fancied, by the sandwiches and coffee--and the whisky too, he guessed.
For presently there was an odor from the uncorked bottle in the car.
Bud started and drove steadily on through the rain that never ceased.
The big car warmed his heart with its perfect performance, its smooth, effortless speed, its ease of handling.

He had driven too long and too constantly to tire easily, and he was almost tempted to settle down to sheer enjoyment in driving such a car.

Last night he had enjoyed it, but last night was not to-day.
He wished he had not overheard so much, or else had overheard more.

He was inclined to regret his retreat from the acrimonious voices as being premature.