Harry on the other, and me, dressed in some of Sissie's clothes, half hidden between them.

I was singing; that was Sissie's habit,--to get roaring drunk and blow off steam by yodelling song after song as he rolled along.

Our voices were about the same; nobody dreamed that I was any one else but the Swede--my head was tipped forward, so they couldn't see my features.
And we went our way with the miners standing on the curb waving to us, and not one of them knowing that the person who sat between your father and Harry was any one except Larsen.

We drove outside town and stopped.

Then we said good-by, and I put on an old dress that I had brought with me and sneaked back home.