“Not until we get eighty-six miles from nowhere,” Tom put in.
“I hardly think so, Vic,” answered Bob, good-naturedly.
Victor’s expression indicated his displeasure.
“All right then—I’ll let it go now; but just wait till we get out in the open country,” he grumbled.
“There’s a coolness in the air,” remarked Tom.
He looked quizzically toward Victor.
“A storm is brewing,” said Dave, absent-mindedly.
Presently the park was left behind. On and on sped the motor car. There was so much to see and so little time to see it in that the brain of each lad held only a confused impression of many buildings, of trees and grassy stretches, and shining patches of lake.
“What place is this we are coming to?” cried Tom, at length.
“Evanston,” answered Victor.