“Well, then, I’ll take your advice,” grinned Joe.
As they emerged from the terminal into the street at their final destination, Joe asked:
“But how are we going to find this place, Larry? Do you know the way?”
“No, but I know how to find somebody who 191 does,” replied Larry, and he signaled to a taxicab driver.
“Nix, Larry, nix!” expostulated Bob. “We can get there on the trolleys. You’d better save your cash.”
“You fellows blew me to a taxi ride when I landed in Clintonia the last time, so I’m going to do the same for you,” said Larry, obstinately. “No use in kicking now, so just forget it.”
During this brief dialogue the taxi had approached them, and now stopped as the driver swung open the door.
“Hop in, fellows,” directed Larry, and then he gave the driver directions to drive to the big broadcasting station.
With a jerk and a rattle they were off, and there ensued an exciting ten minutes as the taxicab scooted through the traffic, shooting across streets, and missing collisions by the narrowest of margins a dozen times in the course of the brief journey. The boys held on tight to prevent being thrown from their seats, and they all heaved sighs of relief when at length the vehicle came to a sudden halt in front of the big broadcasting station.
“Whew!” exclaimed Bob. “I don’t know what this will cost you, Larry, but whatever it is, you get your money’s worth of excitement, anyway. 192 Taking a ride in one of those things is like going out to commit suicide.”