They alighted in the middle of the street, for the chauffeur opined that if he fell off the hard pavement he'd never be able to climb back on it. They dismissed him, and watched him turn and roll out of sight.
Deaves shuddered. "I wish I was safe inside!" he murmured.
Evan took careful note of their surroundings. On the corner where they stood was a stationery store, and across Beechurst street was a saloon. "Someone watching us from in there I'll be bound," thought Evan. If he had been alone he would have gone in. Across Stonewall avenue from the saloon was the church aforementioned, and the fourth corner was vacant.
They turned up Beechurst street, which was swallowed up in unrelieved blackness a few yards ahead.
"I feel as if there were watching eyes on every side of us," said Deaves tremulously.
"They're welcome to look at me if it does them any good," said Evan lightly.
"You carry the package," said Deaves.
"Aren't you afraid I might skip with it?" said Evan teasingly.
Deaves had no humour. He hastily took the package back. Evan chuckled.
The sidewalk ended abruptly, and they took to the centre of the street. Here they found a rough and stony road grown high with weeds on either hand. Mounds of ashes and tin cans obstructed the way; an automobile would have found it well-nigh impassable. It wound across that ugly no-man's land between the pavements and the cultivated land. What with his terrors and the tenderness of his feet, Deaves made heavy going over the stones.