"We've lost our way. Where does this road take us?"
"Into the city of Tinkletown."
Three or four voices in the car were guilty of saying things in the presence of a lady.
"Well, where in hell are we?" demanded the spokesman.
"You ain't in hell yet, but you will be pretty soon if you keep up that reckless driving, lemme tell you that."
"Where do we get the Albany road?" called out another voice from the car.
"The quickest way is to go into Tinkletown an' take the first turn to the left after—"
"But we don't want to go to Tinkletown, you damned old hayseed. We—"
"Shut up, Joe!" cried one of the men. "He's excited, Mister. His wife's sick, and we're trying to get him home before she—before she croaks."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," cried Mrs. Crow before Anderson could speak. She also kicked him violently on the ankle-bone. "The quickest way to get to the Albany road," she went on, "is by cuttin' through back of Cole's sawmill an' crossin' the river at Goose's Ferry. That's about seven miles from here. Take the first lane to your left, half a mile further on."