Leaving Los Angeles in the afternoon in a through sleeper, we awoke the following morning to see the vivid green of the Salt River alfalfa fields all about us, reaching Phoenix in time for a late breakfast. We were not posted on the hotels of the town, but went to the Jefferson because it was nearest, finding it a modern, fireproof building with well-appointed, comfortable rooms. There was no meal service, however, and we were directed to a restaurant farther down the street. We also inquired about hiring a car to take us to the Roosevelt Dam and the clerk replied that he would have a driver connected with the hotel call on us shortly. This party appeared while we were at breakfast and expressed his willingness to serve us.
“Of course you mean to spend the night at the dam,” he said, “returning tomorrow.”
We assured him that we didn’t mean anything of the sort—that our time in Phoenix was limited to two days and that only one of them could be devoted to the Roosevelt Dam. “They tell us that it is only seventy-five miles distant,” I asserted. “Surely one hundred and fifty miles isn’t much of a drive if we get away by 9:30.”
“You may think differently after you’ve made the trip,” he replied, “but I reckon it can be done if you feel that you can stand it.”
We thought we knew something of bad roads and rough going and felt sure that the trip couldn’t be much worse than many other one-hundred-and-fifty-mile jaunts we had done in a day, and, to get down to business, asked, “What kind of a car have you, and what will you charge us for the drive?”
“I’ve a Dodge,” he replied, “and the regular price for the trip is forty dollars.”
The lady of the expedition had not said much so far but the latter part of the remark aroused her interest and slightly excited her ire. “Forty dollars for one hundred and fifty miles—a six or seven-hour trip!” she exclaimed. “We don’t wish to buy your car, thank you.”
We declined to negotiate farther with a party who was such a palpable would-be robber and on coming out into the street I approached a jovial-looking old fellow in a Ford labeled “for hire,” thinking more of getting a little information than of any likelihood of doing business with him.
“Yes, I can take you to the dam,” he said. “Drive you up to-day and bring you back tomorrow; forty dollars for the round trip.”
“But we want to get back this evening,” we replied, ignoring the unpleasant confirmation of the Dodge driver’s “regular fare.”