h, and the car slid out and away.

Foster settled back on the cushions with a sigh. The other man was
fumbling the side curtains, swearing under his breath when his fingers
bungled the fastenings.

"Everything all ready?" Foster's voice was strident with anxiety.

"Sure thing."

"Well, head south--any road you know best. And keep going, till I tell
you to stop. How's the oil and gas?"

"Full up. Gas enough for three hundred miles. Extra gallon of oil in the
car. What d'yah want--the speed limit through town?"

"Nah. Side streets, if you know any. They might get quick action and
telephone ahead."

"Leave it to me, brother."

Bud did not know for sure, never having been pursued; but it seemed to
him that a straightaway course down a main street where other cars were
scudding homeward would be the safest route, because the simplest. He
did not want any side streets in his, he decided--and maybe run into a
mess of street-improvement litter, and have to back trail around it.
He held the car to a hurry-home pace that was well within the law, and
worked into the direct route to Hayward. He sensed that either Foster or
his friend turned frequently to look back through the square celluloid
window, but he did not pay much attention to them, for the streets were
greasy with wet, and not all drivers would equip with four skid chains.
Keeping sharp lookout for skidding cars and unexpected pedestrians and
street-car crossings and the like fully occupied Bud.

For all that, an occasional mutter came unheeded to his ears, the closed
curtains preserving articulate sounds like room walls.

"He's all right," he heard Foster whisper once. "Better than if he was
in on it." He did not know that Foster was speaking of him.

"--if he gets next," the friend mumbled.

"Ah, quit your worrying," Foster grunted. "The trick's turned; that's
something."

Bud was under the impression that they were talking about father-in-law,
who had called Foster a careless hound; but whether they were or not
concerned him so little that his own thoughts never flagged in their
shuttle-weaving through his mind. The mechanics of handling the big car
and getting the best speed out of her with the least effort and risk,
the tearing away of the last link of his past happiness and his grief;
the feeling that this night was the real parting between him and Marie,
the real stepping out into the future; the future itself, blank beyond
the end of this trip, th