“Yah, I guess we can!—seventy miles an hour.”
“Say,” he threw out his chest, “don’t you suppose I know how to handle this old bus?”
“My life isn’t insured.”
“Anyway,” came the grin, “you aren’t doing anything useful except rattle around in the seat. So when we go down the hills you can jump out and hold us back.”
“The human brake, huh?”
“And when we’re going up the hills,” was the further job that was shoved at me, “you can get out and push.”
“One thing in my favor,” says I, “it isn’t a hilly country.”
Poppy and I have a lot of fun gabbing back and forth that way. It’s crazy stuff, I know. But we get a kick out of it.
At ten o’clock we came within sight of a flock of dingy-looking houses. According to our map this was New Zion. The road that we were on seemed to be the town’s main street.
A big weather-beaten sign jumped up in front of us. And reading it, we were made to understand why there were no other automobiles on the road except us. We understood, too, why Lawyer Chew had driven over from his own town in a horse and buggy.