“Well, what do you think of that?” marveled Malcolm.
“Say, can we have a ride?” called Rob.
“No, you can’t; my horse is tired,” was the ungracious response.
“How far is it to school?” shouted Malcolm.
“’Bout two miles or two miles an’ a half, I guess.”
“We’ll pay you for a lift,” Rob bawled after the vanishing driver. But there was no reply and the fog swallowed man and horse and vehicle.
“Brute!” muttered Evan.
“Hope he breaks down,” said Jelly. “Hope his horse has blind staggers. Hope—”
“That’ll do, Jelly; you’ve hoped enough. Hope for something worth while, like a trolley-car or an automobile or a flying-machine. Gee, fellows; two miles and a half he said!” And Rob shook his head and looked dismally into the fog.