"Jove! That was good!" exclaimed Dick, as they came out of the hostelry.
"That's right," agreed Innis.
"I think I'll see if they have a couple of roast fowls that we could take along with us, and eat cold for supper," suggested the young millionaire, and he carried out his plan, a brace of well browned chickens being stowed away in the "kitchen" locker.
Late that afternoon they came to a place where two main roads forked. Either one would take them to the place where they had decided to stay over night.
"This one's a little the shorter," explained a farmer, whom they asked about it, "and it's a good road. The only thing is that there's no crossroad leading from it for about eight miles, and you may git stuck in the middle, and have to come back."
"How so?" asked Dick.
"Why Bill Simpson is moving his house along this road. He's changing the location, and he may not be off the highway by the time you get there. I did hear, though, that he expected to have it off the road and on the new foundation by night."
"Well, we'll take a chance," said Dick. "If the house blocks the road maybe we can go around it."
"Maybe," assented the farmer, and the big car went on.
They had nearly reached the end of the fine, level road, and were congratulating themselves on soon getting to a fair-sized town where they intended to put up for the night, when Paul, looking ahead, exclaimed: