dubiously.

"Get the car out," said the inexorable Joe. "We can put the top up."

Zeke opened the door and went in. For several minutes there was the
metallic slip and catch of the crank and Zeke's laboured breathing.
Then there issued forth a reverberating roar as of a monster released
in travail, and then slowly there emerged, back end first, a perfect
scarecrow of an automobile, mud stained and rust streaked, with an
arrangement on the back like a discarded chicken crate, with fenders
that were battered and twisted as though torn by some elemental
tempest, and with a sagging and flopping top over the front seat that
looked as though at any moment it might collapse from sheer
decrepitude. Slowly the thing backed out of the shed, in a curve to
the road, with much groaning and roaring, and then came to a stop. The
whites of two eyes peered out of the shadow of the enveloping bonnet
as Joe approached.

He took one more look at the sky before he climbed in. The racing
forerunners of storm had in some inexplicable manner vanished and
there remained a lowering canopy of gray and black with here and there
a patch of grayish green. Over in the west was a thin line of greening
yellow, and the shadows were darkening over the back lanes through the
trees.

"Let's go," said Joe, climbing in.

With much panting and sputtering and popping the car started slowly
forward and they were off. Neither spoke. They came to an intersecting
street and Zeke slowed down the car.

"Which way, Mist' Joe?" he asked.

Joe was suddenly irritated. "To Fillmore. You know where I mean.
Wherever you've been going for the stuff."

Zeke made a sudden turn to the left, narrowly escaping the projecting
roots of a tree. Joe clung to the top brace for support. Down a
darkening street they rolled, with the trees arching, sombre overhead,
and on either side, back in the shadows, the darker shapes of houses
with here and there the passing glow of a lighted lamp. Night
descended upon them as they left the town and a few splashes of rain
appeared on the dirty glass of the wind-shield. Joe settled stoically
down to wait. There was so much time to be passed until he could be of
further use and until then there was no need of making any effort. The
thought of the morning came back to him. It did not seem possible that
the same day was passing. Singularly, the idea of Bromley's was the
thing that obsessed him rather than the business in hand. It was as
th