The street stretched straight ahead, with not a vehicle in sight. The glare of electric lights flashed on steadily falling rain; the gutters ran with miniature floods, which gurgled and splashed along, carrying on their muddy surfaces a miscellaneous collection of rubbish. Here and there great pools reflected the buildings and telegraph poles with weird effect.
Bob put on more speed; the motor car leaped forward, and for several blocks they flew ahead at a breath-taking pace. An electric car coming from the opposite direction presently whizzed past, a confused mass of blurred lights and shadows.
“This is simply great, Bob!” cried Tom. “Enjoying yourself, Charlie?” he added, with a laugh.
The “grind” was not; so the only answer Tom’s query brought forth was a dissenting grunt.
Occasionally Blake took a long, careful survey of the situation. On looking out, a few moments later, he saw a residential section passing before his eyes. This was quickly followed by the open country and desolation.
The storm, which had lulled during a short period, broke forth with renewed activity. At intervals coppery colored lightning streaked across the heavens, or forked its way to earth. In the brief instants of dazzling glare a series of singularly clear impressions, of dark, twisting clouds, of distant farmhouses, of rail fences, of waving trees, and of formless patches of shadow were imprinted upon Charlie’s brain. It filled the boy with a curious sense of awe and dread which refused to be shaken off.
“A bend in the road just ahead, Bob!” Tom at length sang out.
“I see it,” responded the chauffeur.
The advancing rays of light showed the broad road disappearing around a mass of vegetation.
“Have to slow up now,” said Bob—“danger of the machine skidding on slippery ground like this.”