Head South and Keep Going

A street car slipped past, bobbing down the track like a duck sailing
over ripples. A local train clanged down to the depot and stood jangling
its bell while it disgorged passengers for the last boat to the City
whose wall of stars was hidden behind the drizzle and the clinging fog.
People came straggling down the sidewalk--not many, for few had business
with the front end of the waiting trains. Bud pushed the throttle up a
little. His fingers dropped down to the gear lever, his foot snuggled
against the clutch pedal.

Feet came hurrying. Two voices mumbled together. "Here he is," said one.
"That's the number I gave him." Bud felt some one step hurriedly upon
the running board. The tonneau door was yanked open. A man puffed
audibly behind him. "Yuh ready?" Foster's voice hissed in Bud's ear.

"R'aring to go." Bud heard the second man get in and shut the door, and
he jerked the gear lever into low. His foot came gently back with the
clutch, and the car slid out and away.

Foster settled back on the cushions with a sigh. The other man was
fumbling the side curtains, swearing under his breath when his fingers
bungled the fastenings.

"Everything all ready?" Foster's voice was strident with anxiety.

"Sure thing."

"Well, head south--any road you know best. And keep going, till I tell
you to stop. How's the oil and gas?"

"Full up. Gas enough for three hundred miles. Extra gallon of oil in the
car. What d'yah want--the speed limit through town?"