“Fine and dandy, Higgins,” replied Dan, feeling at the moment that this was really so. Gerald spoke for a moment in low tones with Higgins and then took the driver’s seat, remarking in what seemed an unnecessarily loud tone: “We’re going to take a ride first, Higgins. Get on the running board and I’ll take you as far as the station.”
“Very well, sir.”
Gerald honked the horn and in a moment two boys appeared from around the corner of Clarke. Each carried a bag in his hand. One proved to be Ned Tooker and the other was Kendall Burtis.
“I asked them to spend the night with me,” explained Gerald carelessly to Dan. “You fellows dressed warm enough?” he asked them.
“I’ve got on everything I own,” replied Ned as they dropped their bags on the floor of the tonneau and climbed in. Dan took the front seat with Gerald, Higgins slammed the door and mounted the running board and the big car slid noiselessly down the circling drive. At the station it slowed down and Higgins jumped off, touched his cap and said, “There’s about eighteen gallons in her, Mr. Gerald.”
“All right, Higgins. Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
Away shot the car again, across the bridge and into the main street of Greenburg. “One way’s as good as another, I guess,” said Gerald. “Any special place you want to go to, Dan?”
“No, I don’t care where you go.” He snuggled down into his coat, crossed his feet and sighed contentedly. “Just keep her going, Gerald.”
The car slowed down and passed through the town cautiously, jouncing gently over the cobbles, past the lighted stores and around the clanging trolley cars. Then a turn to the left and the town was behind them and the salty breeze of the Sound met their faces. The big lights bathed the road ahead and Gerald’s fingers pulled at the throttle lever. The engine began a steady hum and the air swept past them, damp and cold.