The motorman glanced at him with a look of surprise; then thrust the bank note into his pocket and grinned.
“Sure I get you,” he replied. “No questions, eh? That’s good enough for me, though they do say money talks. I’ll do the best I can for you.”
The automobile then was fifty yards in advance, but the trolley car was unobstructed and rapidly gaining speed through a street running straight toward an outskirt of the city.
“Good for you,” replied Patsy. “Only a mutt would expect more.”
“I’ll keep it in sight, all right, unless I get the bell too often. But we’re not carrying many this trip.”
“Where do you run?”
“To Ashville, six miles from here. But we hit the suburbs soon; then can cut loose, if necessary. Do you know where the buzz wagon is going?”
“If I did, I would not bother you,” smiled Patsy. “I have reasons for wanting to find out, if possible. Did you see the driver when he slipped in ahead of you?”
“I didn’t notice him.”
“You don’t know who owns the car, then?”