"He's all right," rejoined Neski. "Maybe he's the one in luck. Go on; shut the door."
She obeyed, since there was no object in leaving it swinging with Oliver left far behind. Again the driver crowded the motor, and the car pushed away at its top pace.
The driver—Joan Daisy did not know his name nor anything more about him than she had heard in the three words from Mr. Clarke—pushed out the curtain, as before, and after his glance back, he worked at his throttle in attempt to increase the speed.
Joan Daisy knelt on the seat and gazed out through the little rear window and discerned, far behind, a car without lights which was keeping up with or gaining upon them.
It passed the lonely house, where Oliver had been left, and followed, increasing in size and distinctness under the clear moonlight; it was the only car in sight and Joan Daisy watched it, trying at the same time to hear the words which Mr. Clarke exchanged with the man, whom he knew.
"Hold on!" warned the driver, loudly; and she did, but was flung to the side of the seat as the car swung to the left, and, refusing to be straightened to a new course, skidded and spun about until it headed almost directly up the road down which it had been pointed.
"Don't turn again," bid Mr. Clarke's voice. "Go ahead," and the driver hurried the car across the road, upon which it had been traveling, and onto a branch to the north.
Joan Daisy gazed through the isinglass in the side curtain and saw the other car about a block away, as she reckoned.
Of course, there were no blocks out there in the country. It was meadow or flat farmland with old cornstalks
