"Half past ten! It'll likely be filled up before I can get there."
"What will be?"
"The place I'm after."
Skilfully he raised the limping foot, laid it across the other leg, and nursed the stone-bruised big toe, his eyes on the automobile, which had halted almost in front of him.
"Halloo, Junius!" a voice in the crowd sang out. "Lucky man you, not to have to depend on street-cars!"
The driver of the car was a young man. That is, Edward Billings Henry judged him to be young by the only feature visible, a flexible, wide mouth, with clean-shaven lips. His eyes were behind goggles, and a cap covered his forehead and ears, meeting the tip of a high collar, which effectually concealed his chin. But the mouth smiled as the goggles turned toward the pavement, the owner answering lightly:—
"Halloo yourself, Dick! Jump in and try my luck."
"Where are you going?"
"Up to Congress Square."
"Well, get along then!" returned the other. "That's no good to me."