Jack wheeled round and looked. Something was approaching and at a good pace. It had the look of a vehicle of some sort. Jim, after eying it intently, shook his head.
“Dere ain’t a traffic-cop on Fif’ Av’noo would stan’ fer dat outfit!” he declared.
As it drew near its make-up was revealed. The vehicle somewhat resembled the two-wheeled chariot of classic times: the driver stood in front; but instead of a pair of horses the shafts were attached to a metal sphere about four feet in diameter, which rolled and bounded onward, in obedience to a motive-power apparently contained in the sphere itself. The vehicle drew up beside them, and the driver, an odd-looking creature, with a big head, staring eyes, and a copper-colored skin covered with course hair, motioned to them to get aboard.
“Say pal, where did yer blow in from?” Jim inquired.
The driver shook his head and pointed to his mouth, which he opened widely. There was no tongue in it.
“The fellow is dumb!” ejaculated Jack.
“It don’t look right ter me,” observed Jim. “Let’s side-step it!”
“He is evidently sent to fetch us somewhere,” returned Jack. “We can’t be more lost than we are; and who but Lamara can have sent it? We may as well get in—there’s nothing else in sight.”
“It’s up ter you, boss,” said Jim doubtingly, “but it sure is a phony rig! I’d like ter know what dat there ball has inside it!”
Jack had already climbed into the vehicle. He reached out a hand for Jim, but the driver had set the contrivance going, and it was only by an active leap that the little cripple succeeded in making the connection. They were off at full speed.