“To Washington,” replied Bob. “We had an accident with our car not far from here.”
“Accident, hey? Not hurt, I hope?”
“No. We were able to jump out in time. You see, we came unexpectedly on a spot where the bridge was washed away. Caused by the recent rain, no doubt.”
“Oh. Tough luck, wasn’t it? And the machine—was it insured?”
“Luckily it was,” replied Joe with a chuckle. “Though we may have trouble in proving it.”
“Fight it to the finish!” said the man, shifting his cud of tobacco to the other side of his mouth. “If you have to, take it to court.”
“I hardly think that will be necessary,” Joe said with a smile. “The insurance company bears a good name.”
“Wonder if this guy’s Scotch?” mused Bob to himself. Only recently the youth had read a good joke about a man of that nationality.
For the next half-hour the three carried on a varied conversation. It was at last broken as they neared a small town.
They had almost entered the city limits when a slowly moving freight train halted them. Reluctantly they settled back and waited.