"Could you take a car south for me? There'll be night driving,
and bad roads, maybe--"

"If you know what you say you know about my driving, what's the
idea--asking me if I can?"

"Well, put it another way. Will you?"

"You're on. Where's the car? Here?" Bud sent a seeking look
into the depths of the garage. He knew every car in there. "What
is there in it for me?" he added perfunctorily, because he would
have gone just for sake of getting a free ride rather than stay
in San Jose over night.

"There's good money in it, if you can drive with your mouth
shut. This isn't any booster parade. Fact is--let's walk to
the depot, while I tell you." He stepped out of the doorway, and
Bud gloomily followed him. "Little trouble with my wife," the man
explained apologetically. "Having me shadowed, and all that sort
of thing. And I've got business south and want to be left alone
to do it. Darn these women!" he exploded suddenly.

Bud mentally said amen, but kept his mouth shut upon his
sympathy with the sentiment.

"Foster's my name. Now here's a key to the garage at this
address." He handed Bud a padlock key and an address scribbled on
a card. "That's my place in Oakland, out by Lake Merritt. You go
there to-night, get the car, and have it down at the Broadway