"All right. You'd like another ten, wouldn't you?"
"Sure. But——"
"Ten dollars to get us to the same place inside of twenty minutes," went on Dick, and showed a roll of bankbills.
"Can't do it—in this slippery weather," answered the man, his eyes glistening at the sight of the money. "Make it in half an hour."
"All tight then."
"I'll put on the chains," cried the chauffeur, and brought out the anti-skidding chains for the rear wheels. The boys got the colored man to assist him, and the chains were soon adjusted. Then the car was backed out of the garage and the three Rovers leaped inside.
"Now, don't lose a minute," said Dick.
"I won't. But we are taking chances on this road, sir, I can tell you that."
It was still raining steadily, and the highway was a mass of oily mud,—a splendid compound upon which to skid. On and on rushed the touring car at a rate of speed varying from twenty to thirty-five miles an hour.
"I could eat this road up if it was dry," shouted the chauffeur. "The machine is good for fifty miles an hour."