“By all means,” urged Feeny.
“Are you going directly home?” They lived near my residence.
“N—no—but that need make no difference. We were just taking a little sleigh-ride. You don’t mind a ride of an hour before you go home?”
“I am rather weary,” I replied. “I have been rattling along in the cars for two days and two nights. Have come all the way from Peoria, Illinois.”
“Well, jump in. We will at least take a little drive down Darby Road. You must feel chilly. Here is something to warm you.”
This was an article of glassware, containing a genial fluid, designed for the interior of mankind. Having availed myself of this blessing, I sprung into the sleigh; Feeny jumped in after me; and we dashed away in the blinding storm.
“We were just at the depot to meet a friend we expected,” said he, “but he did not come.”
Away we went out Market street, defying even the wintry wind to outstrip us. Instead of turning down the Darby Road, as proposed, we kept on out Market street.
“We’ll take a little ride out this way first,” said Mr. Aaron, “then we will return, go down Darby Road, cross Gray’s Ferry Bridge, and go home.”
“All right!”