"Be careful, sir," called the chauffeur, "it's a heavy penalty driving without a license."
"Same thing in our country, but we're hard to catch," the Codfish shouted back over his shoulder as, with motor speeding up, he dropped into high gear and fled up the road like a red shadow.
"This is what we should have done long before this," quoth Gleason, "a chauffeur is a clog on conversation."
"Yes, but he's handy to have along under certain conditions."
The boys drove along in silence for five minutes, when Frank, with his mind on train time, said: "Better turn now, old man. We've been out nearly thirty minutes, and thirty more makes an hour, my time limit."
"You're great on mathematics. Let's go up this road through the village there to our right and out back on the main road, pick up the gent who went to visit the old folks, and then I'll drop you in dear old Brighton in some few minutes. But first let us explore a little."
"I'd rather we explored some other time," Frank remonstrated.
But the Codfish was willful. He found a road leading to the left, circled the village and came back again to a highway. "Now, let's see, where did we leave that chap?" he mused. "Right along here some place by the willows, wasn't it?"
Driving slowly, the boys scanned the roadside for their chauffeur, but no sight of him could they discover. "Well, it certainly was here somewhere, and if he hasn't the gumption to come back as per agreement, he can stay behind, eh, what?"