lars, and oil-stains on the floor. Then I discovered that I was alone. It worried me a little to find that Wendy Washburn was no longer at my side. But the next moment I saw him and another man run to one of the cars standing there. Two huge doors, at the same time, swung open at the far end of the garage, which must have reached through to the next street.
I remember my Hero-Man helping me up into this car, which was a roadster with very high-backed seats. The next moment he was there beside me, with the club-bag between his knees, and we were slithering over the oily floor and across the wet sidewalk with a purposeful thump of tires that plainly announced we were still out to play ducks and drakes with the speed laws.
I found the well-padded seat of this second car much more to my liking, I seemed to fit into it as though I had been made for it, or it made for me.
I don't know how long I'd sat there, trying to hold my head up, when I heard Wendy Washburn say: "I think we've given them the slip!"
I don't think I was really much interested. I was too tired to care. I must, indeed, have fallen asleep during a good part of that journey, though I nursed a hazy recollection of leaving the city behind
